Reshuffle
by instant dragon
Summary: With a reshuffle in the works and a high-profile gaffe by Nicola Murray, Malcolm Tucker has a lot to spin. Can he keep all the plates in the air? At what price? AU - established relationship. I took liberties with the series timeline as well. Rated M for language and dark themes.
1. Chapter 1

_The Thick of It_ is fully owned by Armando Ianucci. This is a work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Sam checked the steaks, turned off the oven and lowered the heat under the asparagus as she heard the car from the service pull up to the curb. Malcolm was turning fifty tomorrow and Sam had put together a romantic surprise dinner. Sam decided to do dinner tonight because she knew he would most likely stay late at the office, if not work all night, on his birthday. There was a reshuffle in the works.

As it was, she'd already delayed cooking after a text from Malcolm let her know he'd be late home. She considered it good luck that it was only 21:00 now, rather than midnight. It wasn't always easy to be married to the director of communications for the Prime Minister.

Drying her hands on a dishtowel, she checked her hair in the reflection from the convection oven and then hurried to the front door. She was there with a bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water chilling on ice on the foyer table when Malcolm came in.

"Happy birthday eve, Malcolm!" She said in greeting, leaning in for a hug. His eyes crinkled up in a surprised smile as he returned the embrace, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek as they separated.

Sam cracked open the San Pel, poured into two Champaign flutes and handed one to Malcolm.

"You're too kind, Luv." Malcolm's Scottish brogue always tickled Sam's ear when he said "Luv."

"I made filets mignon and asparagus. Have you already eaten? Are you too tired?" Sam brushed Malcolm's hair back as she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He looked beyond done in. Sam silently castigated herself for not realising he would be too tired. He had been burning the candle at both ends for the better part of a month.

"No, no – not too tired, and no, I haven't eaten – I'm famished. It smells great. That was really nice of you, Sam. Is it ready now, or do I have time for a quick change?" Even his voice sounded tired. His beautiful blue eyes were dimmed and bloodshot. 'Oh, Malcolm,' Sam thought, 'I do love you.'

Sam patted his chest. "You go ahead. It will be ready when you come down."

Sam returned to the kitchen to put on the finishing touches as Malcolm trudged upstairs to change.

As Malcolm's PA at Number 10, Sam kept his diary and knew the many rigours of his job. This was their third reshuffle since the Labour party came to power, and Sam knew the routine, both at Number Ten and here at home for Malcolm.

As the PM worked through possible changes in cabinets and ministers, Malcolm used his considerable influence behind the scenes to fully vet all potential candidates, consider possible complications from a communications perspective and make recommendations to the PM. Although Julius Nicholson was adviser to the PM, as director of communications, Malcolm's recommendations carried a lot of weight. With a peerage to prove it, Nicholson represented the interests of constituents with wealth and privilege. Malcolm provided a connection to the foundations of the Labour party and served as a crucial counterpoint to the PM's innate tendency toward cronyism.

At times like this, Malcolm had a tendency to turn into an utter control freak. His focus on work was absolute, and more peripheral things like eating, sleeping, marital relations, tended to fall completely off the radar. Left to his own devices, Malcolm would work to the point of collapse.

The first time she saw him go through something like this was in the first year of their marriage. Malcolm was director of communications for the opposition during an election year. At forty years of age, he was new to the position and had a lot to prove. The party had some significant challenges to overcome to get back into Number Ten. As communications director, Malcolm had his work cut out for him in positioning the leader of the opposition as a viable candidate for PM.

Up to this point in their relationship, Malcolm had never shown any weakness or self-doubt, in public or in private. He always projected absolute confidence, seemed to know what was going to happen next and had a plan for every step of the way. In the relationship, Sam felt very protected and taken care of. Malcolm routinely put her feelings and needs ahead of anything else. While it didn't always feel like an equal partnership, she loved him deeply and appreciated the consideration and care he showed.

In the months leading up to election, Sam watched Malcolm fall apart and felt powerless to do anything about it. He stayed all night at the office, sometimes for days, lost his appetite, lived on caffeine, got increasingly grouchy and sweary with his charges. And he had a nightmare that changed the course of their relationship.

Before they were even married, Malcolm told Sam that he sometimes had nightmares, and that he came out of them swinging. He told her if she noticed he was having a bad dream to not touch him so he didn't accidentally hurt her.

One night a few weeks before the election, Sam was awakened by a noise. Malcolm moaned and writhed in his sleep, obviously in the grip of a dream. Sam sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, worried about how restless he was. Deep into the dream, Malcolm said a few unintelligible phrases and then started gasping as if he couldn't breathe.

Forgetting what he had told her, Sam put a hand to his chest to wake him. He flailed a fist and caught her hard on the cheekbone. Sam's cheek immediately went numb and her eye started watering. The impact woke him up and Malcolm sat up suddenly, bathed in sweat, panting uncontrollably. Sam reached out to comfort him, but he stumbled out of bed, into the bathroom, dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and was promptly sick.

Alarmed now, Sam followed him into the bathroom and knelt beside him, rubbing his back. He shied away, wedging himself between the toilet and the bath, trembling. He was deathly pale and his eyes were unfocussed, as if he wasn't yet fully awake.

Sam's heart broke for him. She just wanted to gather him up and hug him, but didn't want to startle him further. She'd never seen him so vulnerable. Finally, she sat back on her heels, still close, but not crowding him, and talked to him in the gentlest voice she could muster. Gradually the trembling abated, and he seemed to come to himself.

The moment he noticed her swollen cheek he burst into tears, gently cupping her cheek.

"Sam, I'm sorry, so sorry…I'm no good. No good. Sorry sorry…"

Crying too, Sam held him and whispered reassurances until he finally calmed down.

"Do you want to tell me about the dream? Will that help?"

"No. Sorry I can't. I just can't" Malcolm cleared his throat and straightened up. "What time is it? You've got to go back to sleep. I'm so sorry for waking you up."

"Nonsense. What about you? Are you okay? Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

"No. Not just yet. How's your face? We should get some ice on that or you'll have a nasty bruise."

Malcolm averted his eyes, but not before Sam saw them brimming with more tears.

"It's okay, Malc, you didn't know what you were doing. And you did warn me about waking you when you were in a nightmare, so it's just as much my fault."

"No, never say that, Luv. Please. Here, let's go to the kitchen and fix tea and I'll get some ice on that." Malcolm helped her up and kept a hand on her arm all the way downstairs and into the kitchen. He was still trembling.

Malcolm insisted on making the tea and gently iced her cheek. They ended up on the sofa for the rest of the night, twined together, sharing tea and cuddling until it was time to get ready for work.

Later that day, Sam made her first call to Malcolm's sister, Julia, who lived in London at the time. They had only met a few times leading up to the wedding, and while Sam had meant to reach out, the opportunity had not presented itself. She made a date to meet Julia for lunch. During that conversation and several others over the years, Sam learned about Malcolm's childhood and the environment he was raised in.

* * *

The first time she met Julia for lunch, Sam was nervous. It's not that Julia was at all imposing. Compared to her acerbic brother, Julia came across as mild and calm. Sam's nervousness was more about meeting with Julia without Malcolm's knowledge. And that's how she opened the conversation.

"You must be wondering why I asked for this lunch date. I mean, I've meant to get in touch, but things have been so hectic, and I know you're busy with the kids…"

Julia demurred. "Sam, I could've reached out, too. I just figured I would let you two have your space and eventually we'd get to know one another."

"To be honest, I'm a little nervous. It's just that Malcolm doesn't know about this at all. Something happened the other night, and I'm hoping you can help me get some insight. I would ask him, but I think you'll see why I felt it might be better to ask you."

"It's something about our childhood?"

"Yes, at least I think so. He had a nightmare. When he woke up it was like he was a totally different person, someone I'd never met before."

"Did he tell you about the dream?"

"No, he said he couldn't. He was sick from it, and trembling really badly. It took him a while to come out of it. I was scared for him. Do you remember him having dreams like that? Can you think of anything from growing up that might have contributed to it?"

Julia took a sip of her tea with a thoughtful expression before looking Sam directly in the eye.

"Did you ask him that?" When Sam didn't respond, she cut her eyes away, reaching again for her tea. "No, I suppose not. I know he can be a little unapproachable."

"He won't talk about his childhood at all. Not about friends, school, his parents, nothing. He adores you, of course, and sometimes tells stories of things you did together."

"No, Malcolm won't talk about his childhood, and I wouldn't ask him about it unless some day he brings it up, which he won't." Julia sighed and seemed to come to a decision.

"Things were awful at home. Whatever you're imagining, take that and double it. If he's not talking about it, I don't feel right talking about it, but at the same time I think there are some things you really need to know.

"You know Malcolm is five years older than me. We had a younger brother, Duncan, who died when he was two."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. She didn't know Malcolm had younger brother at all. "I didn't know that. How sad. How did he die?"

"So he didn't even tell you about Duncan? Well, I can't start there, but we'll get to that. Our parents never should have married. Dad had a lot of problems. He was a drunk, but I think the drinking was to compensate for other things that weren't right. Nowadays, they call people like him sociopaths. And Mother was just not dealing with reality most of the time. A lot of bad things went on in our flat and she chose to keep her head in the sand.

"As the oldest, Malcolm would always get between Dad and me, or Dad and Duncan and defuse the situation. He had a way of talking our father down from the ledge when he was at his worst. Sometimes he could talk his way out of a beating, and sometimes not. He had some kind of leverage that I never could figure out. It was like he knew a secret that our Dad didna want to come out.

"Sorry to tell you all of this, but you asked, and I think you needed to know. You're really good for Malc. I can see the way he just lights up when you're around. He doesna let people in very easily."

"Don't I know it. Here we've been married a year and there's so much I don't know. Thanks for sharing this with me, and I hope it isn't too painful to you to dredge up all this old hurt."

"The reason Malcolm won't drink is because of our father. I think he's always been afraid he'd turn into him if he let himself go in any way. He's got all this anger bottled up and nowhere to let it out. Won't go see a therapist, lord knows I've encouraged him enough, but he'll have none of it. He'd rather rewrite history and pretend it never happened."

"The ultimate spin doctor."

"Yes, that's right, my brother the spin doctor."

"And you have no idea what the secret was that Malcolm held over your father?"

"Dad had trouble holding jobs. He did maintenance and caretaking, mostly, if he was working. There was this shed in back of our flat with all of his supplies and equipment. Malcolm wouldna go anywhere near it. Would walk all the way around the block to avoid having to pass it to get home from school. Our father sat out there most nights he wasn't working, getting drunk. Malcolm would keep watch from the window in his room, looking for the crack of light under the door. That way he'd know Dad was out there, out of the flat.

"I think something very bad happened to Malcolm out there before I was born. And something very bad did happen to Duncan out there, and that brings us to your question about how he died."

Suddenly, Sam didn't want to know anymore. Her desire to get up and leave was almost overwhelming. She felt the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. She forced herself to stay seated and ask the next question.

"What happened to Duncan?"

"Malcolm and I were at school. Malc was fourteen, and I was nine. When we got home from school a neighbor told us our parents were at hospital with Duncan. Dad wasn't working at the time and had been home alone with Duncan all day. He told the neighbor he found Duncan in the shed, unconscious. He said Duncan must have gotten into the cleaning supplies and drank something.

"Malc and I stayed up most of the night waiting for word or for someone to come home and tell us what was going on. It turned out Duncan was in a coma. He passed away early in the morning. Our Mum and dad came home and told us.

"When Malcolm heard the news he went off the rails. He tore into our bedroom and came back into the living room in a total rage with his shinty club. He beat our Dad within an inch of his life."

"Oh my God." Sam's mouth was completely dry. She couldn't reconcile what she'd just heard with the man she was married to.

"The police took Malcolm in, of course, but he was only locked up for two days. Right after it happened I called my grandmother and told her all about what was going on at home. She took me to the station and had me tell the police everything – the taunting, the threats, the abuse. Things that would make your stomach turn. By then they'd seen the bruises all over Malcolm.

"Malc and I stayed with our grandmother in Perth while they conducted an investigation. Our father went to gaol and stayed there until he died a few years back. We lived with our Mum in another city in Scotland until she met another abusive drunk and Malcolm ran away to London after the first fight. He was sixteen."

Lunch arrived and Sam made a point of turning the topic to Julia and her children, sensing that she wasn't the only one that had reached her limit on the darkness that was Malc and Julia's childhood. Later that evening, while Malcolm was still at work, Sam launched a covert Internet search of the local Glasgow newspapers around the time that Malcolm would have been fourteen. It took several nights of investigative forays and one call to a public library in Glasgow to obtain a series of articles covering the incident where Malcolm attacked his father and subsequent abuse investigation and trial of his father.

From that point forward, Sam understood at least a little what lay behind Malcolm's need to be in control. As a result, she was able to provide the safe harbor he so desperately needed at his most vulnerable moments. While Malcolm never mentioned his childhood, going to the lengths to change the subject if it came up, there was a silent understanding that he knew she knew something about the demons of his past and loved him even more because of them. But he never did open up and tell her anything about his childhood.

The nightmare came in cycles, usually when Malcolm was under stress. Sam was pretty sure it was the same dream most of the time. When it happened she wouldn't touch him, but would wait for him to waken on his own and then do what she could to help him calm down and get back to bed, if possible.

After ten years of marriage, Sam knew the best thing she could do when Malcolm was like this was be there to nurture him when he couldn't take care of himself and not take his distance personally. During events like reshuffle he just shut down and lost all sense of anything that wasn't about the matter at hand. At times like this he desperately needed a minder.

* * *

Sam glanced at the clock in the kitchen – 21:30. Malc should've been down by now. Unless…

Climbing the stairs and approaching the door, Sam was pretty sure she'd find him asleep. And there he was, feet on the floor, lying across the bed, as if he'd fallen asleep while sitting down and loosening his tie. She sighed to herself and knelt to take off his shoes. Poor Malc.

Malcolm didn't wake when she removed his shoes and tie or unbuckled his belt. Upon pulling the belt through its loops, Sam saw two new crudely punched holes in it. So he was losing weight again – she'd thought so.

Sam roused him enough to get into his pajamas and properly under the covers, then went back downstairs to wrap up the dinner they didn't eat and stick it in the fridge. Her new plan was to heat it up for breakfast tomorrow, still a nice birthday meal, and good to start the day with protein. But she was determined to make sure he got some calories tonight.

Twenty minutes later, she re-entered the bedroom with a tray holding tomato soup and grilled cheese. Setting the tray on the dresser, she sat on Malcolm's side of the bed and caressed his cheek. He woke and looked blearily at her.

"Hey birthday boy, I've fixed some soup and grilled cheese. Do you think you can sit up for dinner in bed? Come on now, I won't have you to bed with no supper no matter how tired you are." She cajoled him into sitting up, then placed the tray across his lap and crawled into bed next to him.

"Sam," he husked, "you really are too good to me."

"I know." Sam kissed his cheek, then took her bowl of soup and half a grilled cheese. Malcolm tasted the soup.

"Sam, I'm sorry about dinner."

"Don't you worry, it will keep. Now, tuck in before it gets cold."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Malcolm woke up as if he was catapulted out of sleep – immediately fully awake and focussed on his first three priorities of the day: gauge the impact of the complex series of events and communications he'd set in motion involving Ray Hartford to demonstrate Hartford's lack of fitness to continue in the role of Minister of International Affairs, warm the PM up to the idea of Dan Miller in that role, and make sure Nicola Murray was set to not fuck up when she launched her fourth sector pathfinders award campaign in a live BBC broadcast.

Malcolm sat up carefully, trying not to wake Sam. Sam. _She_ should be his first priority, making it up to her for messing up her birthday dinner. He often wondered why she stayed with him, as he was such a hard lining bastard. He didn't deserve her and he knew it.

Once in the shower, he leaned against the tile, feeling as if it was too much to ask to hold himself in a standing position. His body felt like it was covered in lead weights. 50 years old today. Probably need one of those fucking shower chairs before too long. Pathetic. He inhaled as deeply as he dared and exhaled, unavoidably stirring up the ever-present old man phlegm in his bolloxed lungs. After a good long cough, Malcolm felt a little more human and was just soaping up when he felt a cool breeze across his backside.

One shapely brown eye peered in from behind the flap of shower curtain.

"Hey handsome, are you up for company?"

Sam used her sultry voice. No mistaking what's on her mind.

He _really_ didn't deserve her.

"Yes, ma'am, come on in. Just no birthday spankings, okay?"

Malcolm forgot all about being an old man for a while.

* * *

On the ride in to the office, Sam couldn't help but notice Malcolm was coughing more than usual. She restrained herself from asking about it because she didn't want to start his birthday off with a row.

He'd had bad asthma in childhood and still used an inhaler from time to time. Earlier in their marriage, She had needled him to go see a pulmonologist, or at the very least ask his doctor to run some tests and see if there was anything that could help. Sam was no medical professional, but surely there was something that could manage his symptoms better than a puffer from the chemist. Malcolm would have none of it, denying that he still had asthma or that he had any trouble with his breathing at all.

But he _really did_ have trouble with his breathing. He was always congested, and had a tendency to get winded easily. At night, Sam could hear him wheezing and often checked on him during the night. Then there were the annual or biannual bouts with bronchitis or pneumonia. But no, there was no problem, according to Malcolm. They didn't talk about the inhaler he kept in his desk at Number Ten, or the one in the nightstand at home.

Sam attributed his denial to a mile-wide stubborn streak and his need to always be in control. During one of their sparse conversations about Malcolm over the years, Julia told Sam that their father used to hide Malcolm's inhaler and make fun of him when he had bad asthma episodes. That no doubt also contributed to Malcolm's reluctance to acknowledge there was a problem.

* * *

"Good morning good morning good morning!" Malcolm whisked into his office, making a late entrance after stopping off at the PM's office. The communications team was already assembled, notebooks and Blackberries in hand.

"What's the latest?"

"Did you see the write up in _The Standard_ on Ray Hartford's foreign policy gaffe?" Nick offered.

That was music to Malcolm's ears. No one in the room with the possible exception of Jamie McDonald had any idea that Malcolm had engineered that gaffe. Now came the tricky part – leading the communications team to believe he wasn't interested in what could possibly be the most important thing in print all week.

"Yes, I did. I also saw the physical comparisons between Hartford and Paddington Bear. Honestly, Nick, I don't think we should put more energy into the foreign policy thing, that will just make it a bigger, more visible fuckup." Malcolm cleared his throat and had a sip of coffee.

"Just in case, though, who knows what Hartford has on his calendar for this week?"

Jamie, always on top of things, looked up his calendar on his Blackberry. "The only thing I made note of is a black tie fundraising dinner for Doctors without Borders. He's the guest speaker."

If Jamie was tracking Hartford's calendar, then he had figured out that he was under scrutiny for reshuffle. _Full marks, Jamie_ , Malcolm thought.

"Do we have any eyes in the room for that?"

"What do you mean?" Nick asked. Jamie answered Malcolm's question, ignoring Nick's.

"No one I'm aware of, though there is a list of press attending. Are you looking for something in particular?"

"Let's talk about it offline later today. Thanks, Jamie. Now, the rest of you, what else is going on?"

Nick chimed in with a nugget from _The Mirror_. "Simon Hewitt wants to take a hatchet to Nicola on the fourth sector pathfinders thing."

Malcolm sorted through papers on his desk, not wanting to spend the entire meeting discussing Nicola's latest cock-ups or Simon's ongoing campaign to sling filth on anything Nicola was associated with. Nicola Murray may be a bitch, Malcolm mused, but she was _his_ bitch.

"Simon's barmy, no one listens to him. What's the line on Pathfinders? Doesn't Nicola have a launch event tonight? Who's working with her?"

"Oliver Reeder."

"Then let that be his problem, no?" This was a decision Malcolm would regret all too soon. To his credit, he fully intended to pop in on Nicola and Ollie before the event. He didn't trust Ollie Reeder as far as he could sling a piano.

"Do you have any news on the reshuffle, Malcolm?" Terri Coverly asked in a brazen attempt to find out if DoSAC would be impacted.

"No, I don't, and if I did, I wouldna be telling you lot, would I?" He quelled the tide of questions on that topic by slamming that door early and with finality and moved onto other business.

* * *

After his morning communications team meeting and a few other routine Number Ten things, Malcolm took the car service over to DoSAC. He wanted to check in on Nicola and Ollie and their preparation for Nicola's television appearance. During the live programme, Nicola would tender a fourth sector pathfinder initiative award to their first citizen hero. Malcolm at first vetoed the idea, but then thought this might be as good an opportunity as they were likely to get to make her look less glum and also try to move the focus off of her sodding husband's PFI affiliation.

He breezed into the DoSAC office with a cursory "hello and where is Nicola?" to Robyn, already aimed at the minister's office. He could see Nicola at her desk through the frosted glass and she appeared to be alone. Malcolm knocked as he opened the door.

"Where's Ollie?" Nicola looked up from papers she was studying on the desk.

"I dunno, Malcolm, not my day to watch him. Have you ever considered setting up an appointment with someone you want to meet with?"

"Not when I expect that person to be in here with you, helping you get ready for your live broadcast with BBC. That is tonight, right?"

Nicola rolled her eyes, obviously frustrated with Malcolm.

"You know it's tonight, Malcolm, and I am not five years old. I've been preparing all morning. It's not like I'm delivering the state of the nation; it's an award. Five minutes, if even that."

"An award for a programme you initiated. Coverly's got all kinds of comms out about this Pathfinders thing as your signature moment. You cannot fuck this up, Nicola. You know that, right? It would be career suicide. It would make the Liam Bentley thing look like the crowning accomplishment of your career. Do you want that? Is that what you want to be remembered for? 'I am bent'?"

Nicola didn't respond right away, and Malcolm let her stew in the uncomfortable silence.

"No, Malcolm, of course not. It's just that I've _got_ this."

Malcolm's Blackberry vibrated and he looked at the display. Christ – the PM.

"I have to take this call. Work with Reeder. Better yet, when you see him, tell him to call me."

Malcolm took the call out in the hallway. Just as he hung up he saw Ollie enter the building with a takeaway bag from lunch. Probably out with that bint from the opposition. Malcolm lay in wait directly outside the elevator. When Ollie stepped out, Malcolm greeted him. Ollie startled, nearly losing his takeaway bag as he stepped off the lift.

"Ollie, there you are. Have a nice lunch?"

"Malcolm – Christ, you scared the piss out of me. How do you do that?"

"I am a master of the dark arts. We know all the tricks. Is Nicola ready for the BBC tonight?"

'Yeah – sure, I guess. Have you checked with her?"

"That's your job, not mine. Your boss is going in front of four million viewers tonight on live television and it's your job to make her look good. The answer to the question shouldn't be 'I guess.' How much have you worked with her?"

"Malcolm, I've worked with her loads. She knows the line. This is her programme, after all. She's ready. It's an award for fuck's sake, even she can't screw that up."

Malcolm moved in close, in full intimidation mode. He could see the sweat on Reeder's upper lip. Good.

"If she blows it, that's not her fucking it up, that's _you_ fucking it up. It's on you, Ollie. You're her handler, yes? So go handle her. Make sure she's ready. I'll be watching tonight."

Malcolm left the skinny twat standing by the elevator and stepped into the lift going down. Mission accomplished.

From there, Malcolm was in a closed-door session the rest of the day with the PM working through the reshuffle. He got more names from the PM and was able to plant a few seeds of doubt about Ray Hartford by referencing the write-up in _The Standard_. By the time he left the PM's office he was coughing steadily.

He returned to his office with the dossiers on the new potential appointees, each of whom he needed to review and work through official and unofficial channels to make sure they were squeaky clean and fit for the intended positions.

Sam left Malcolm at the office at 19:00 with some Satsumas, a Red Bull and a suit for the morning. He spent the rest of the evening and on through the night working on his master spreadsheet of doom – a compendium of all things reshuffle. It was a highly sensitive document that Malcolm didn't share with anyone. No one even knew it existed. It cross-referenced every current minister and party official with all new and existing positions going into the reshuffle. Malcolm filled in details about each individual's political leanings, aspirations and history. One tab captured the PM's current thinking about movement. Another tab was Malcolm's current thinking, which was very different from the PM's.

Malcolm peeled Satsumas and worked on the spreadsheet. He drank his Red Bull while pawing through cartons of old news clippings, searching for some telling detail that could be used as evidence of fitness or unfitness to serve. He used his inhaler and crawled across the Internet, finding useful factoids and sound bites to add to his spreadsheet.

Suddenly, Malcolm realised it was two o'clock in the morning and he had missed the 22:00 BBC live broadcast of Nicola giving the Pathfinder award. He flipped on the television in the corner of the room and listened to the rebroadcast while he worked.

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

And tonight we have Nicola Murray, minister of the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship, here to present the first ever Fourth Sector Pathfinder Award to Dovydas Kazys, a local hero here in Sheffield. Welcome, Nicola, welcome, Dovydas.

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

Thank you, George. Yes, I am excited to be here to recognise the accomplishments of Mr. Kazys. Dovydas, if I may call you Dovydas, yes? Thanks! I am pleased to meet you in person at last. Am I pronouncing your name correctly?

 **DOVYDAS KAZYS:**

Yes, you pronounced it correctly. I am glad to be here.

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

You know, when I first came into office, I had many things I wanted to accomplish through the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship. But none of them rival the burning need to focus attention away from all of the negative things we hear about in the news every day – sorry George, but it's true – and take time to really recognise those among us who are accomplishing great things. The only way our communities are going to get stronger is if we, the people, make them that way. Dovydas here is an excellent example of an everyday person doing something extraordinary.

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

Dovydas, I understand you were on duty in your cab when you saw some youths vandalising the front of the Millennium Gallery.

 **DOVYDAS KAZYS:**

That's right. They had spray paint and were going at it when I rolled up to pick up a fare. I radioed the police and then filmed them with my cellphone for evidence. The police came and took them in.

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

And that's the video we're going to show right now. Steve, roll the video, please.

Malcolm heard the background noise from the unprofessional video. _Not much left for Nicola to screw up,_ he thought _– just give the bloke his award and off with you_. As the video ended Malcolm turned to face the television screen so he could watch Nicola give the award.

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

My, that was impressive! That was a clever idea to film them like that.

[Facing the camera]

That's what we're looking for, people, everyday heroes like Davidas here. I mean, Dovydas. Even though he's just a cabbie he still made a difference."

Malcolm leaned forward in his seat toward the TV. He felt all the color drain from his face and then return in a furious blush. "Oh fuck! Fuck! Where's that fucker Reeder?"

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

Ahem.

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

[Notices she made a faux pas]

Well, I mean, I don't mean "just" a cabbie, like that's something bad. I mean, anyone can make a difference in the community.

 **DOVYDAS KAZYS:**

I may be just a Lithuanian cabbie to you, but at least I'm not a crooked politician with an even crookeder husband. What are you lot doing while we cabbies can't get work because of how long it takes to renew our permits? Do you know I only just got back to work after waiting three months for my renewal? Three months! And while that's going on, you're all chuffed about your stupid award programme. Lord knows what you spent on the marketing. My union will hear about this!

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

We'll move to an advert now. Be back shortly.

Malcolm muted the TV and scooped up his Blackberry. The Reeder twat didn't pick up. Although Malcolm hated leaving voicemails that could come back later as evidence, he left a carefully restrained one now.

"We need to talk."

He disconnected and then found Jamie in his contacts. He texted Jamie.

"Did you see what NM did?"

Jamie texted back within less than a minute.

 **JAMIE:** On it.

 **MALCOLM:** Good lad!

 **JAMIE:** Will you go to DoSAC tomorrow?

 **MALCOLM:** Can't miss this opportunity.

 **JAMIE:** Can I watch?

 **MALCOLM:** No – need you talking to the cabbie and his blery union before this becomes a city-wide matter.

 **JAMIE:** Too late. Look at breaking news.

Malcolm looked back toward the muted television and saw a mid-shot of George Alagia talking. The banner under the video said "LTDA work stoppage. UCG 'Go Slow' action tomorrow."

"Fuck me!" Malcolm grabbed the remote and turned the sound up. His heart pounded in his ears. The room felt about ten degrees hotter.

"...based on the statement released from the London Taxi Driver's Association, London commuters should make alternate arrangements for getting to work tomorrow. The work stoppage includes all LTDA cars and limo services. The BBC has asked for a statement from the Transport Secretary, but was told he is not available for comment."

"Fucking Tom! Twat!"

Malcolm dialed Jamie, who picked up right away. For a moment all Malcolm could do was breathe heavily while he mastered his anger.

"Do you want me to talk to Tom, Malc?"

"Where the fuck is he? Why did I not hear about this from him? Fuck! This happened _hours_ ago!"

"They are probably still at the office trying to sort it. I can swing round and have a chat with him –"

"No. No. Let me handle this. It would be my pleasure. You stay home with your bairns. I will need you tomorrow as this heats up. Okay?"

"Okay, Malc. I'll start with Kazys and LTDA first thing in the morning."

"Yes," Malcolm juggled the phone as he put on his suit coat. "Get their statement and send it to me as soon as you have it. I'm going to work with Tom on his statement tonight. We need to pull the teeth on this thing, fast. Tomorrow I will work with fucking Nicola and Ollie to get her apology together. Could you reach out to George's people to get some air time?"

"Sure thing. Night, Malc."

Malcolm turned off the television and headed out of Number Ten toward the transportation office, searching for Tom in his contacts on the way. He'd better be at the office, otherwise Malcolm would go to his home and drag him out of bed.


	3. Chapter 3

When she couldn't put it off any longer, Nicola entered the PFI building and made the slow ascent to her office via the staircase in the atrium of the building. Today was going to be a nightmare. Her stomach churned.

She didn't know how things could have gone so wrong so suddenly during the BBC filming last night. Why did she stumble on the cabbie's name at the end, when she'd done fine with it throughout? Why did she have to add "just a cabbie" to her carefully scripted and practised wrap up? Jesus, why?

And the cabbie totally overreacted. In hindsight, she almost felt as if he came in with an agenda and looked for an opportunity to move it forward. And how could she have known there was such an issue with the license renewal process? That wasn't DoSAC work, that was Transpo's fuckup.

Sure enough, Malcolm was waiting in her office, texting on his Blackberry. She braced herself for the explosion. He looked up at her as he set down his Blackberry, but didn't say anything. Finally, Nicola crossed to her desk, stowing her handbag and hanging her coat on the back of her chair.

"Just go ahead and say it, Malcolm!"

Malcolm stifled a cough. "No, I want to hear you say it, Nicola."

"Okay, fine! I fucked up. But I only fucked up a little. It isn't my fault Tom isn't getting the job done in Transpo. That cabbie was just looking for a way to get that out there. The union probably put him up to it. What was I supposed to do?"

"First of all, stick to the script. What did I tell you when you first became a minister? Know the lines. Stick to the lines. Do not stray from the fucking lines."

Malcolm rubbed his eyes. Nicola noticed how tired he looked. In fact, he looked a mess, like he'd been up all night, or maybe was coming down with something. Maybe that's why this bollocking wasn't as loud as she expected. _Good. Maybe he has flu and will be out a while_ , she fantasized.

"Yesterday, I asked you if you were prepared and you said yes. You said you'd been working with Ollie and you knew the fucking lines."

"And that's true, I did."

"Then why did you go off script?"

Nicola had no answer.

"How did this happen?"

Nicola didn't have an answer to that, either. Malcolm stared at her, expectantly. Nicola felt her throat constrict and her eyes start to well up. _No,_ she commanded herself, _You will not cry in front of this bastard_. Her chin wobbled a little, but she was able to master herself before responding.

"I don't know what to tell you, Malcolm. I am human. I slipped up. Things were going well, and maybe I lost my focus. It won't happen again."

Malcolm stood. "Let's hope not. You're in a hole now, Nicola, right in the middle of Reshuffle, and I don't know if we can dig you out."

"So, what happens next? How _do_ we dig me out?" Nicola felt relieved that the bollocking was over and they were moving on to the solution part.

"I'm going to get with Reeder now. He's going to see his fucking life pass before his eyes. Then, he and I are going to draft your apology. Jamie's managed to get you air time with George tomorrow on the BBC. He's working with Coverly on your schedule."

Malcolm headed for the door, but grasped the doorframe and turned before heading out. Nicola's stomach dropped when she saw the depth of his disappointment in her. As much as she hated the bastard, she still wanted his respect more than almost anything.

"You got lucky, Nicola. The big issue is with Transpo, and that's where the press will focus. You can't count on that happening again. From now on, with the exception of this apology, I am restricting your press appearances to time delay only. No live broadcasts. We can't risk it. Check with Coverly on your broadcast time. Ollie will work with you once we've drafted your apology."

Malcolm left her office and Nicola leaned back in her chair, suddenly aware of how tense she was. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself before picking up the phone to call Terri in to find out more about the arrangements.

* * *

A car horn honked, warning him out of the road. Malcolm stepped back to the curb, pulling his eyes away from his Blackberry, on which he was having a text exchange with Jamie.

He was making his way back to Number Ten from the PFI building, having just finished up with Ollie, who barely survived the bollocking he so richly deserved, and who managed to suck it up and work with Malcolm to craft a reasonably elegant apology for Nicola.

Malcolm decided that texting and walking was a mite too hazardous, found a bench, and plopped down to finish the exchange. Reconsidering, he dialed Jamie, who, as usual, picked up right away.

"I was about to call you," Jamie said.

"Texting is easier when I'm riding back to Number Ten in a car from the service." Malcolm coughed and cleared his throat before continuing. "So, What do you have for me on Ray Hartford?"

"A draft of his address for the Doctors without Borders thing."

"How is it?"

"Pretty bland. Can't say I see anything useful in it." Malcolm grinned. He and Jamie seemed to enjoy a low-key psychic connection. The beautiful thing about Jamie was that he didn't need things spelled out for him.

"Go ahead and send it over. Could be we can spice it up a little. Wouldn't want him putting his audience to sleep, given what they're paying to attend."

"It's on its way. The event is day after tomorrow. If you can get me your revisions first thing tomorrow, I will see that they get into the final version."

"Thanks, Jamie. Now, what's the latest on Mr. Kazys and the sodding LTDA?"

"They want a public apology from Nicola,"

"Apology is drafted and Reeder is working with Murray."

"BBC airtime is 16:00 tomorrow. Will she be ready?"

"I'll have Sam schedule Nicola and her team for some practise time with me. I can't leave this up to Ollie."

"How did it go with Tom last night?"

Malcolm coughed a little more and cleared his throat again. He felt like he would kill for a coffee or tea right now. "Rough. He's not buttoned up at all. Nowhere near solving the renewal delays. I worked with him to write a statement last night and handed him off to Nick to get ready. The press conference is in two hours."

"Do you want me there?"

Malcolm found himself suddenly choked up. His eyes burned. Shit, he was tired.

"Could you? I'd go, but I'm meeting with the PM at 14:00. This whole transpo thing really threw a spanner in. And cabinet is tomorrow. I need to be ready with a few things – it's the last one before reshuffle."

"Consider Transpo off your plate, Malc, you've got enough to get on with. And try to get some rest somehow. You sound like shit."

"Nothing a giant coffee won't help. Thanks, Jamie. Talk later." Malcolm disconnected. He had to work to gather the energy to lever himself up from the bench and walk back to Number Ten.

* * *

Sam saw Malcolm enter his office from the back hallway, working busily on his Blackberry. She knew he had a meeting with the PM in ten minutes and would bet this week's wages Malcolm had not had lunch. Prepared for that eventuality, she entered his office bearing a nice ham and cheese croissant, sliced into four pieces for easy and quick consumption.

He stood at his desk, pawing through a file folder, likely reviewing his notes to prep for his meeting. He did not look up when Sam entered, but gave her a distracted smile and peck on the cheek.

"Thanks, Luv."

"Do you need anything before your meeting, Malc?"

"Could you set up a meeting with Nicola Murray for first thing tomorrow, here? And invite Terri Coverly, Oliver Reeder and Glen Cullen."

"Meeting subject?" Sam asked.

"Prepare for BBC."

"Got it – thanks."

"Is there any coffee?"

"No, but I'll fix some. You look shattered, Malc. Do you think you'll make it home tonight?"

Malcolm surpressed a cough into his sleeve. Sam couldn't help but notice he sounded more congested than yesterday.

"I hope to, Sam, but I might need to stay late again getting ready for the cabinet meeting."

Sam went to make coffee. Malcolm met her at the door as he headed out for his meeting, folder under one arm. She gave him his coffee and he thanked her again as he headed for the PM's office.

When she popped into Malcolm's office a little later to put the mail on his desk, she saw he'd had two bites of his sandwich. She wrapped it and put it in the fridge.

* * *

 **18:00**

 **SAM:** Jamie, I'm heading out. Are you still here?

 **JAMIE:** I'm leaving Transpo, OTW to #10.

 **SAM:** M is with PM. Not sure when they WB done. Could you bring M takeaway?

 **JAMIE:** Sure. What should I get?

 **SAM:** Not sandwich. Maybe Indian?

 **JAMIE:** Cinnamon Club!

 **SAM:** Thx!

* * *

Jamie disconnected his call with The Cinnamon Club with a powerful appetite for curry and headed to Number Ten on foot from Transpo. Though he'd planned on catching the tube home, Sam's text seemed a little dire. He worried that Malcolm was letting himself go in the heat of reshuffle and the Transpo/DoSAC debacle.

It was also possible that over dinner Malcolm might share information about reshuffle. While Jamie was as curious as anyone on the communications team, he was more interested in Malcolm's role in the process. The surly bastard was the best strategic thinker Jamie had ever known, and perhaps the best communications director there ever was. Over the past few years, Jamie strove to make himself an unofficial apprentice to the bastard and had come to think of Malcolm as a mentor or even a father figure.

Thus, it pained him to see Malcolm push himself so hard. Jamie hoped bringing takeaway from Malcolm's favourite Indian restaurant would be a bright spot in his day. Jamie couldn't stay long – he had to get home at a reasonable hour for his wife and kids, but at least he could check in and see how things were going.

The timing couldn't have worked out better. The delivery had just arrived and Jamie was arranging the bags on Malcolm's side table when the man himself bustled in, folders under one arm and balancing his laptop in one hand and a Fanta in the other.

The older man set his laptop on the desk and locked the folders in a drawer, scenting the air.

"You didn't!"

"I did. Happy birthday a day late, by the way."

"Cinnamon Club?"

"Yes indeed. Come over here and eat, you look like you're wasting away, Malc."

And he did, Jamie thought. His clothes were hanging on him. Of course, no one looks good after an all-nighter followed by another very long day.

"Did Sam put you up to this?"

"She texted me when she headed out about an hour ago. Seems she was worried about your ability to feed yourself."

"Mother hen. I'm useless without her."

Together they sorted through the bags and containers, assembling their plates. Malcolm loved spicy food, especially Cinnamon Club's curry.

"I've been with the PM so haven't heard any news. How did it go with Tom's statement?" Malcolm asked, sitting across from Jamie at the boardroom-style table at the back of Malcolm's office where they had their morning comms meetings.

"Fairly well, considering he basically said there is no news and he is monitoring the situation with the renewal delays. A little shaky on the delivery, but stuck to the script. I had to reel him in a little on the Q and A."

"Good work. Thanks again for covering it."

"Happy to help. How did it go with Nicola this morning?"

"Fuck if I know. She's convinced it was all a cabbie's union conspiracy to wrong-foot her. Ollie got a talking to. Irresponsible prat. He did okay on the apology statement though. The whole DoSAC team is coming here tomorrow to practise."

"Do you think she'll make it through reshuffle?" Malcolm coughed and cast his eyes down briefly. Jamie surmised he was either preparing to lie or preparing to tell him he couldn't talk about reshuffle.

"It's just too soon. She's only been in office for six months. How's it going to look if she's binned this early? Sometimes, you've got to prop up the weak ones and eventually they will either sink or swim. Yes?" Malcolm coughed again and cleared his throat, taking a sip of Fanta.

"Curry getting to you?" Jamie asked.

"No, DoSAC is getting to me. Let's talk about something else." Malcolm stirred his food around, but seemed to be done eating for the moment.

Jamie left for home half an hour later, still worried about his boss.

* * *

Having an advance copy of Ray Hartford's speech was a value-add. Malcolm mentally thanked Jamie again. He inserted a few subtle phrases lifted directly from the man's comments in earlier communications that would reinforce the perception that Hartford was out of step with the international community and unfit for the Minister of International Affairs role. It wasn't too hard a stretch, really. Malcolm did not invent any words; the additions were straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

Hartford had demonstrated time and again that he truly wasn't the right person to advance the UK's interests. It's just that no one was really paying attention at the time except for Malcolm. With more focus on personal gain than in the longer-range goals on the Labour party, Hartford had to go. When Malcolm was through, he hoped that Ray would be more than happy to take a seat on the back bench, or perhaps retire.

Dan Miller, on the other hand, was a man whose time was fast approaching. Young and not yet jaded by the attraction of power and prestige, Miller's humble and straightforward approach to politics stood to build stronger ties with England's allies and developing nations. Over the past three years, Malcolm had implemented a covert succession plan for Miller and a handful of other up and coming plebes in the party. Thanks to Malcolm's behind-the-scenes manipulations, Miller had already gained experience in civil and municipal domestic affairs, treasury, defense and now was ready to get foreign affairs under his belt. This careful grooming would hopefully result in a well-rounded PM candidate for the next election.

Malcolm spent most of the night revising the PM's update to the press about the reshuffle and working on his spreadsheet and preparing for the cabinet meeting. The three things really went hand-in hand, and he found himself batting back and forth between the PM's press update and the spreadsheet while planning his approach to shake a few ministerial trees during cabinet.

The tricky part was the timing. The PM was set to give his address at 10 in the morning, and cabinet was at noon. Malcolm sincerely hoped that his approach in the cabinet meeting would put the nail in the coffin on the idea of Ray Hartford continuing as International Affairs Minister and add credibility to Dan Miller.

Malcolm didn't want to risk the appearance of the PM saying one thing in his update and then back-pedaling later due to the upheavals in cabinet. That meant the address needed to be vague and somewhat monotone lest the analysts dissect it after the broadcast and determine the PM's personal leanings. This work took precision and a sharp mind, and Malcolm was having difficulty summoning either of those things. Fuck, he was tired.

On top of it all, he was definitely sick. Not just a little sick, either. He felt like Fat Pat was sitting on his chest. Every time he coughed it felt like knives were stabbing him in the ribs. Once he started coughing he couldn't stop. He'd used up his inhaler trying to clear things up and he still had to work hard to breathe. Everything hurt – his throat, his head, all of his joints. He'd ransacked Sam's desk but didn't find any paracetamol. She was going to be pissed in the morning – because he made a mess of her desk, but also because he'd gone and gotten sick.

At 5 AM He sent the final version of the PM's press update to Julius. He considered lying down for an hour but was worried that he wouldn't be able to get back up, or would be so out of it that he'd be useless. He just needed to make it through the Nicola meeting and then the cabinet meeting at noon. He'd be done with what he needed to do at cabinet by 14:00 at the latest and could step out early to go home and collapse. He just had to power through a few more hours.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

Chapters will be shorter moving forward, but I will update weekly, and possibly more frequently upon occasion. There are lots of plates spinning in this story, and shorter chapters means I can course-correct more easily if something goes astray. Reviews would be appreciated!

* * *

Sam's cell rang as she was getting ready for work at 6 AM. The call was from Malcolm's office line. Sam answered, putting the phone on speaker so she could finish applying her makeup. He didn't say anything at first. All Sam heard was his laboured breathing.

"Hey beautiful, did you miss me?" He finally said. His voice was rougher than usual, and he sounded out of breath. Sam took the phone off of speaker and held it to her ear, wanting to feel closer to him.

"Malc, you're sick."

"Only a little. I'll leave midway through cabinet and go home and rest. Do you have paracetamol in your purse?"

"Of course I do. You must feel really awful if you're asking for that. Poor dear."

"Could you also get my suit from the cleaners on the way? I've got no clothes here." It sounded like Malcolm muffled the phone as he turned away to cough.

 _Christ, he sounds terrible_ , Sam thought, but didn't say.

"Can I bring you anything else?"

"No Luv, thanks so much. I really appreciate it. I will see you soon. Love you."

"Love you, too." Malcolm disconnected. Sam stared at her phone. She was worried about him and also angry that he had let himself get into this state again. She'd waited up late last night but never heard from him. It was unlike Malcolm to not call when he wasn't coming home. He must have been engrossed and worked straight through the night. She would raise it with him later, when the pressure was off and he was rested up and feeling better. They had to find a way that he didn't have to do this. Sam worried that one day something awful would happen because he pushed it too far.

When Sam first got assigned as Malcolm's PA she had done what many wives who work with their husbands do – she had stayed at the office with him until he was ready to go home. This quickly got silly and only added tension in their relationship. She griped about it to Sue, her good friend and PA to the current PM. At the time, Sue was freshly divorced from the minister of education. While they did not work together directly, as Sam and Malcolm did, they were both at Number Ten. Sue had a good hard laugh at Sam's expense, to Sam's frustration.

"You think that by staying as late as he does he will suddenly, magically change into a man who goes home at 5 o'clock Monday through Friday and doesn't work on weekends. Sam, snap out of it. You're the second wife. Malcolm's first wife is the Labour party, and that's probably not going to change."

Sue noticed Sam's reaction and softened it with a disclaimer. "That's exactly what I did with Gordon, and look how that turned out. I just got more and more frustrated, and he felt smothered and ended up having an affair. Not that I think Malcolm would ever do that. Plus who'd have him, right?"

That got a laugh out of Sam. Sue was right – who else could put up with hard-driving, high pressure, sweary Malcolm Tucker? That's the reason she was his PA – he'd scared off a half dozen very good PAs and HR was sick of receiving complaints, so Sam, a seasoned veteran of the administrative pool at Number Ten, got the dubious honor of being PA to her husband.

"Then what should I do?"

"Go home. Have a life. Give him something to come home to."

And Sam did. She left between 17:00 and 18:00 most days and seldom came in to the office on the weekends. She joined a writer's group and played squash and took gourmet cooking classes. She developed friendships and interests and opinions.

And when Malcolm did finally make it home, the intimacy was great. They had wonderful conversations because they weren't stapled together all day. Malcolm always seemed to look forward to hearing about Sam's day, and asked her lots of questions to keep her talking. He was also very romantic, bringing home flowers and taking her out to nice restaurants. No one at Number Ten or the press would ever believe how tender and affectionate Malcolm could be.

While Malcolm still often worked late, Sam believed he came home earlier more frequently because she wasn't conveniently there with him at the office. While she did get frustrated at times like this, it was more about how he seemed to put the Labour party ahead of his own wellbeing. Sam believed it wasn't just his allegiance to the Party that drove him; it was just as much, if not more, about the way he felt about himself.

* * *

Sam breezed into his office carrying his suit and a duffle with some clean underclothes and toiletries, and a bag from the cafe with coffee, orange juice and a muffin. He was at his desk working over his laptop and didn't look up immediately. Sam set everything down and put a hand on his neck. He was burning up.

"Malc, you're febrile. Look at me for a second."

He turned toward her and she didn't like what she saw. He was clearly very sick. He was pale as paper except for a flush on his cheeks. His eyes had large dark half moons under them and had a rheumy, unfocussed quality. He hitched in a breath and turned away to cough. It was a deep, wracking cough, and Sam saw he braced his ribs on the right. He coughed for a long time, and then needed a few moments to catch his breath. Great. Then it was probably pneumonia or bronchitis. Again.

"We need to get you in to the doctor today, Malc."

"Sam, I'll be fine once I get some rest. Maybe pick up some antibiotics from the chemist. I just have Nicola this morning and then cabinet, and then I'm home."

"I really think we should leave now, hon." Malcolm coughed some more and swore under his breath. He sounded miserable, and looked torn between appeasing her and taking care of what he considered urgent priorities.

"What if the doctor came here? Would you see him?" Sam dug through her purse and found the paracetamol and handed two to Malcolm, who took them with the orange juice. He grimaced upon swallowing. Yep, sore throat, too.

He gave an unconvincing smile, obviously wanting her to not worry and to also get off his back about it.

"Sure, Sam. If you can find one that will come here, that could work. Good thinking." Malcolm stood and collected the suit and bag. "I'm in for a quick shower and shave. That should help." He gave her a peck on the cheek as he headed toward the bathroom. "Thanks for bringing the suit, and for breakfast. You take such good care of me, Sam."

 _What a colossal prat_ , Sam thought, as she headed for her desk. Sometimes Malcolm could be pretty patronizing. This was one of those times. There was no way Sam was going to stand by and watch him work in this condition. No way at all. She powered up her laptop and pulled out her Blackberry.

Her first call was to Sue, to let her know that Malcolm would not be at cabinet, and that Jamie would be there in Malc's place.

Next, she tapped out a quick text to Jamie to see if he could in fact go to cabinet. She knew Jamie was the only person Malcolm would trust to act in his absence.

Finally, she called Malcolm's doctor's office and left a message. There was nothing else she could do until the doctor's service got back to her, so she proceeded to review Malcolm's diary for the next two weeks and flag meetings she could easily cancel and the ones she'd need to reschedule.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

A short one for now. Thanks so much for the kind reviews!

 **SAM:** Could you cover cabinet meeting for Malc?

 **JAMIE:** Probably. What time?

 **SAM:** Noon to 16:00. Might only need to be in until 14:00.

 **JAMIE:** I can cover.

 **SAM:** Thx!

Jamie poked his head into Malcolm's office at 7:45 with the morning edition of _The Daily Mail_ under his arm.

"Malcolm, are you in?"

"Does it look like I'm in?"

Jamie came all the way in and put _The Daily Mail_ in front of his boss, who appeared to still be damp from the shower. So he stayed all night again.

"What's this?" Malcolm rasped, picking it up and scanning the front page.

"Turn to four and look at the Heaney article."

Malcolm shuffled the paper to page four and found Angela's byline. The title of the piece was _Questionable candidates in the Labour Party's back bench – the front one, too_. Malcolm scanned the text, then looked up at Jamie. Jamie did a double-take when he really looked at Malcolm.

"Malcolm, you look like shite!"

"Where did she get the lead about Dan Miller?"

"I'm not sure, but there is only one other person I can think of who knows about his depression."

"Fuck me. Julius Nicholson."

"He must've leaked it. That's fucking low. It's a cheap shot. You don't think anyone's hard up enough to run with that, do you?"

Malcolm set down the paper and stood, grabbing Jamie by the elbow and steering him toward the door.

"We need to pay Lord Nicholson a visit. This won't do."

"I'll go, Malcolm. You should go home. Really. You look like fucking death."

"I have a few minutes before DoSAC gets here. We need to address this right now. Julius has pissed into my tent one time too many." Malcolm coughed hard, and then cleared his throat. "He just wants to keep Hartford in position." They headed up the stairs to the second floor.

Jamie suddenly made the connection. "You've been positioning Dan Miller for it, haven't you? You cunning bastard!"

Malcolm slowed down as they climbed the stairs. He was noticeably out of breath. When they reached the top of the stairs, Malcolm paused and grasped the banister, clearly winded. He wobbled and nearly fell, but Jamie grabbed him and held him until he seemed steadier. The man was as hot as an oven.

"Jesus, Malc, are you gonna live? Fuck's sake, you're burning up. Come over here and sit down a minute." Jamie led his boss over to a nearby mezzanine seating area. Malcolm was wheezing and white as a sheet.

Jamie got a paper cup of water from the cooler on the other side of the lobby. When he returned, Malcolm was bent over double, coughing his brains out. He handed Malcolm the water when the coughing finally subsided. The older man took it with a shaky hand and sipped. Sweat stood out on his forehead. Finally, he caught his breath.

"Seriously, you need to fucking go."

"Sam's seeing if she can get a doctor in between my DoSAC meeting and cabinet. I'll be good as new in no time."

"Well, you're not in for cabinet anymore. Sam texted me this morning and asked me to cover for you."

Malcolm looked surprised and a trifle wounded that his wife had gone behind his back to Jamie. Then his breath hitched and he launched into another coughing jag. Jamie steadied him and waited while the stubborn bastard caught his breath.

"Fuck it. With the Heaney write up on Miller this morning my plan for cabinet is bin fodder anyway. Thanks for covering for me, Jamie – seems like that's all you do these days, eh?"

Malcolm looked at his watch.

"Fuck. It's time for Nicola." Malcolm stood. "When you see Julius, tell him we need to talk."

Jamie watched Malcolm walk stiffly toward the elevator. He dashed out a quick text to Sam that said _He's crashing – get him out of here_ , and then he headed down the hall in the opposite direction toward Nicholson's office.


	6. Chapter 6

Nicola, Terri, Ollie and Glen arrived at Number Ten for their 8am bollocking with Malcolm. Nicola's stomach was in knots again. She'd practised her script for the live BBC broadcast most of the afternoon the day before with Ollie, who seemed bent on making sure she could deliver the lines in her sleep. She was sure she would receive one colossal arse-reaming from Malcolm no matter how prepared she was. The man just had it in for her.

The fact that Malcolm scheduled this meeting with her entire team was mortifying. Glen Cullen was only just back from vacation and knew nothing of the whole situation, but he had to be in this meeting to see the humiliation of his boss by the PM's enforcer. And Terri Coverly. The cow shouldn't have put so much marketing out there. After the cabbie's barb about how much money went into the campaign, her signature moment was now embarrassing evidence of government overspending.

Malcolm's PA met them at the door. Nicola recalled her name was Sam. Six months in as a minister, and she rarely had any contact with the PA because Malcolm felt the need to pop in on DoSAC unannounced every five minutes.

"Good to see you again, Nicola. Malcolm is ready to see you, though he is quite ill. I'm working to arrange a doctor appointment, so please be mindful of the time and do what you can to keep this meeting short."

"No complaints about that here," Ollie chimed in. Nicola eyed him and aimed for a more diplomatic response.

"I'm sorry to hear he is ill. I saw him yesterday and he did seem under the weather. Perhaps we should just cancel altogether. My team can certainly help me prepare for the broadcast –"

Sam cut her off. "No, I know this meeting is important to Malcolm and your broadcast is today, so he wants to go ahead. Just try to finish quickly. And please try to avoid saying anything that will upset him."

"Good luck with that," Terri murmured to Nicola as they proceeded to Malcolm's office.

"Malcolm, what a pleasure, I hear you're dying," was Nicola's opening sally as she and her team piled into his office. There is no defence better than a good offence, in her opinion, at least when dealing with the likes of Malcolm Tucker.

She immediately regretted it when she saw how miserable he looked. Poor bugger. She felt badly for her fantasy the previous day about Malcolm having flu. Surely you can't wish somebody into an illness?

The man in question didn't answer because he was too busy coughing impressively. Face flushed and eyes streaming, he glared at her from under those cross eyebrows as he caught his breath.

"Great to see you too, Nicola. Car service still on strike? How was the walk over here from the PFI building?"

"I drove them," Terri chimed in, "and you shouldn't be here, Malcolm. Seriously. Why don't you go home? You're obviously not up to this. We've got it handled." Nicola appreciated Terri's attempt to mother hen Malcolm out of ripping them to bits over the next hour, but knew it wouldn't work.

"Fat chance of that. How do you think we got to this point? You have proven time and again that you _can't_ handle it, or we wouldna be here." Malcolm stood and shepherded the whole team over to the large conference table, where copies of Nicola's apology awaited them.

"Really, Malcolm?" Ollie offered, "Rather fifth form, don't you think?"

Malcolm shuddered and suppressed a cough. "Yes, Ollie, it is rather fifth form, isn't it? A shame that's the level of maturity the minister's advisers demonstrate regularly."

By now, Nicola's team was seated around the table with copies of the apology in hand. Malcolm stood at the head of the table and leaned in toward them. _Oh shit,_ Nicola thought, _here it comes_.

"You're lucky to have me," Malcolm stated by way of introduction. He gave Nicola a piercing glance. His eyes were horribly bloodshot. He paused. It was a prolonged pause. Nicola thought perhaps he forgot where he was going with it. She could hear a noticeable wheeze as he inhaled and exhaled.

"Okay, Malcolm, why are we lucky to have you?" Terri primed.

"There is something this team isn't getting right. That's why we have such a colossal trail of embarrassing fuckery with Nicola only six months in. Ollie blew it this time by assuming Nicola had it covered because it was her initiative."

Ollie kicked back in his chair, hands behind his head, as any self-respecting smart arse would do.

"Yep, that's me!" Ollie said. Glen happy-slapped him.

"You deserve more than that, you little OxBridge cunt. Thanks, Glen."

Malcolm coughed a bit and cleared his throat. "But he's not the only fucking clown in this circus," He rasped. His voice was definitely starting to give out on him. "Coverly over-spent on the marketing. Glen probably had concerns but didn't raise them early enough or loud enough. And finally, Nicola –"

More coughing from the self-righteous bastard. When it finally started to taper off, Nicola cut him off at the pass.

"Save your breath, Malcolm. Let's see, I'm a fucking vapid cow who can't find her arse with both hands and a torch."

Malcolm was finally recovered enough to continue. "We'll begin now. Nicola, we're going to do a full rehearsal. Glen will be George Alagia. Terri here will be Kazys. This will be in the BBC One studio. Nicola, you will be standing at a podium with George on your left and Kazys on your right."

Malcolm directed them to stand and get in position. Nicola rolled her eyes. This was un-fucking believable.

"Now, is everybody ready? Go ahead and start. George, that's you."

Glen jumped as if pinched and looked down at the script.

 **GEORGE ALAGIA/GLEN CULLEN:**

I have Nicola Murray back with me tonight, along with Dovydas Kazys, who joins us from Sheffield. Yesterday, Mrs. Murray presented Mr. Kazys with the first ever fourth sector pathfinder award for his courageous actions that led to the arrest of vandals at the Millennium museum. Welcome back, Dovydas and Nicola.

"You fucking prat – you're getting into this, aren't you?" Ollie directed towards Glen.

"Piss off, Reeder, you're the reason we're all doing this, you know!" Glen rejoined. "Malcolm, I think Ollie needs a role in this, too."

Malcolm shivered. Nicola felt sick just looking at him.

"Ollie does have a role, Glen."

"And what's that, Malcolm?" Ollie asked, clearly irked.

"Your _job_. I want to you to do your fucking job." Malcolm sat on the top of his desk, facing the tableau of actors. "Go ahead, Nicola, your line is next."

The bastard coughed again and sipped from a small bottle of orange juice. Ollie looked furious. Nicola paused, waiting for a rebuttal from her junior adviser. It wasn't long in coming.

"Malcolm, I don't know what the fuck you want me to do. I mean, this is silly. I know how to prepare a speaker. That's Communications 101 stuff."

"Did you miss that class? Then watch and learn. Nicola, your line."

Hesitantly, Nicola returned to the script.

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

Yes, it's good to be back, George, and thanks so much for coming in all the way from Sheffield, Mr. Kazys –

"Stop!"

Nicola ground to a halt. Malcolm coughed a bit and had another sip of juice before he continued. Nicola was exasperated.

"Well, don't keep us hanging! What was wrong?"

"Why did you say Mr. Kazys?"

"Because that's his _name_!"

"That's not what the script says. Why did you change it?"

Nicola felt her cheeks flush. This was so humiliating. "Because I'm worried I'll mispronounce it again."

A look of approval flashed across the enforcer's face. "Right. You hear that Ollie? What do you do next?"

That put the whole situation in a new context for Nicola. She suddenly felt as if Malcolm was actually on her side. He was coaching the junior adviser. This whole show was for Ollie.

Ollie looked called out. "Well, if it's a problem, then we can change the script."

"No, that is not the answer," Malcolm chided wearily. "Glen, tell him." Malcolm stood and paced. Nicola wondered if he was trying to keep himself awake.

"Ollie, if you rewrite the line to take out the bloke's first name, don't you think he'll notice and know why she's suddenly calling him Mr. Kazys?" Ollie looked at Glen, looking as if he still didn't get it.

Terri tried to help. "Ollie, four million people heard Nicola mispronounce his name. The only way to undo that is for her to say it flawlessly and naturally. Right, Malcolm?"

"Shit – no pressure!" Nicola blurted before she could stop herself.

Malcolm didn't answer. He was in the middle of another nasty coughing fit. When the coughing finally passed, he struggled to catch his breath. Nicola saw him sway noticeably. She felt adrenaline dump into her system. They had to stop this. The insufferable bastard was really, _really_ ill and needed to be home or in hospital.

Malcolm reached out for the fireplace mantel in back of his desk with a shaky hand, but he fell forward and crashed to the floor. His head hit the marble foundation of the fireplace so hard that it bounced.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

Okay, not only am I not English, but I am also not a medical professional and have only a provisional understanding of the healthcare system in England. I am learning a lot from researching things as I write this story! Reviews would be appreciated.

* * *

"Holy shit."

"Fuck. What do we do now?"

"Well, I'm not going to touch him. That's like walking into the animal enclosure at the zoo and putting your head in the lion's mouth."

"You're a fucking twat, Ollie, you know that? Terri, come over here and help me."

Glen knelt next to a supine Malcolm, who hadn't moved since the fall. Terri hesitated, then tentatively came up alongside the unconscious enforcer.

"Help me to roll him over. Watch his neck." The pair carefully rolled Malcolm onto his back. He showed no signs of waking.

"He's bleeding, Glen, look he's all bloody."

It was true. The left side of Malcolm's face, which had been against the marble foundation of the fireplace, was covered in blood. Terri spotted the laceration on his left temple.

"I think I'm going to puke."

"Master yourself, Terri."

"No, really, I don't do well with blood, Glen."

Nicola's paralysis finally broke. She left the room and found the PA's desk not far down the hall.

"It's Sam, right? Malcolm's in trouble. He passed out and he's hit his head. I think he needs EMS."

Sam was out of her chair like a shot, already dialing 999 as she moved ahead of Nicola toward Malcolm's office. Nicola stepped to the side where Ollie was hanging about like a virgin at a brothel.

The PA knelt beside her boss and put a hand on his chest. "Malcolm?" He did not respond in any way. She cupped his cheek.

"Glen, Terri, could you get some ice from the pantry? It's just through that door." Glen and Terri were more than happy to respond to Sam's request and step away from the scene.

Sam turned her back to Nicola and Ollie as the 999 operator answered. Her full focus was on her boss. Nicola and Ollie listened in on Sam's side of the conversation.

"Yes, I am at Number Ten Downing Street, and we need an ambulance. Malcolm Tucker. He's been ill with a high fever, and he collapsed a few minutes ago. Hit his head. No. Yes, he's breathing. Fifty just yesterday. Okay, thanks."

Sam disconnected and set her phone on the floor, taking the towel full of ice offered by Terri and putting it gently behind Malcolm's neck. "Ollie, the ambulance is going to go to the receiving entrance, which is just down the hall to the left as you leave this room. Could you go outside and wait for them, and bring them here when they arrive?"

"Sure, Sam." Ollie headed out, pulling his phone from his suit coat inner pocket.

* * *

"Geoffrey, hi. This is Ollie. Ollie Reeder from DoSAC. C'mon, you remember me, we met at the press event at Number Ten last month. You gave me your number. Yeah. Well, if you're still looking for a story for the evening edition, I think I have one for you. Can you get a journalist over to Number Ten, right away? If they drive around back in a few minutes they'll see the ambulance. Yep, ambulance. Malcolm Tucker. Dunno, man, he just collapsed in a meeting. Yep. Sure. And keep me out of it, okay? Good."

Ollie disconnected from his call with _The Guardian_ editor. He grinned smugly. Now _The Mirror_ , _The Daily Mail_ and _The Guardian_ all had the lead on Malcolm. Payback's a bitch. Next, he speed-dialed Emma, who picked up right away.

"What d'ya want, Ollie? You know I'm in meetings all day."

"Sorry Emma dear, but I thought you'd like to know what just happened at Number Ten. I'm there right now and I was just in a meeting with Malcolm Tucker when he keeled over."

"Keeled – he _died_?"

"No, no, he didn't die, he passed out in the most spectacular way. I nearly wet my pants. This is like all my dreams coming true at once."

"Ollie, you're sick!"

"Well, it's not like everyone else wasn't thinking the same thing, right? Anyway, I'm waiting for the ambulance and thought I'd give you the low-down. Got to let you go now, here it comes. Talk later – bye."

As the EMS techs got organised and headed his way, Ollie saw the first of the journalists pull up in a car off to the side of Receiving. Perfect.

* * *

Sam concentrated on her breathing, refusing to panic. She'd been worried about Malc the last few days, and now it had come to this. _Christ, Malcolm, you never do anything halfway, do you?_ Her knees ached from kneeling beside him. She could feel the heat baking off of him in spite of the ice pack. His temple was already bruising badly. His breathing was very labored.

The worst part of it was she knew she couldn't ride with him in the ambulance. She had to get press control in place and things locked down before people got word of what happened. She checked Malcolm's pulse again and then dialed Jamie, never taking her eyes off of her husband. He hadn't moved once since she came in. _Please, Malcolm, please be okay._

Jaime picked up right away. After the text he'd sent her earlier, perhaps he was waiting for a call like this one.

"Sam."

"Jamie, this is…really important. We've got an ambulance on the way for Malcolm. I'm worried about press. Could you keep an eye out and send them away if they show up?" A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away.

"You got it, Sam, I know how he hates to be in the papers. Nobody's getting any pictures, or they'll have my foot up their arse. How bad is he?"

Sam swallowed hard before she could answer. It was difficult to maintain her composure with the DoSAC people still in the room.

"Pretty bad, I think, I dunno. He's unconscious. Look, I'd better go. I'll call or text you when I know more, okay?"

"Take care, Sam,"

"Bye."

Jamie didn't know the half of it about why Malcolm hated to be in the papers. For someone who had been in the press corps and then government communications his whole career, one would think he would be caught in the media's gaze frequently.

But for someone as high-profile as Malcolm, it was surprising how infrequently anything about him made the news. Sure, his _persona_ was often front and center in political commentary. To the world at large, Malcolm was the invisible spectre: Iago with a Blackberry. But for the media to publish anything specifically about Malcolm or Malcolm's actions was rare. In Malcolm's words, he was 'a backroom boy.'

Sam believed he used his considerable leverage with all the big media syndicates to keep a low profile, only allowing things to get into print that added to his 'one mean bastard' persona. Sam knew he would be horrified if his collapse ended up in the papers. The few times he got a write up for a decision he'd made or an action he took, he was a paranoid mess for weeks afterwards.

Sam had read the articles that covered the incident with his father that landed Malcolm in jail at fourteen, and the subsequent investigation into allegations of child abuse. While Malcolm's name was never mentioned due to his minor status, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out it was him.

In a small Glasgow neighborhood, word got around. Julia had shared with Sam that kids in Malcolm's grade and even some of the older ones were brutal to Malcolm when he returned to school. His remaining years in secondary were chequered with a myriad of fights, both in and out of school.

No, Sam had to make sure the press didn't get wind of this. She also needed to lock his desk, shut down his computer, and make sure nothing sensitive was unsecured in his office. There were more than a few people at Number Ten or in Westminster that would pay great sums to have unsupervised access to Malcolm's office.

* * *

Nicola felt incredibly awkward standing around watching. "Sam, is there anything I can do to help?" She finally asked. A moment later she regretted it.

"Thanks for offering, Nicola. Here's the thing. I can't go with Malcolm in the ambulance. I've got to notify the PM's PA of the situation and also secure some things in the office. I hate to ask, but could you ride with him to hospital?"

"Uh, I-" Just then EMS arrived, rolling in a medical trolley and an array of equipment, and Sam's attention turned toward them.

Ollie rejoined Nicola, Glen and Terri, who moved toward the back of the office, not wanting to be in the way, but not sure if they should leave.

"Nicola, are you going in the ambulance with Malcolm?" Terri whispered.

"Well, I, you know, have the BBC to prepare for, and…"

"But you've _got_ to. What if something happened? Would you ever forgive yourself if he _died alone_ because you were worried about a broadcast that's hours away?"

"Why don't you go, then?" Nicola countered.

"Can't," Terri shot back, "sight of blood makes me ill. You go. It'll be good for you."

"Maybe even politically," Glen chimed in. Leave it up to him to think about all the angles.

"Okay, I'll do it, but you have to meet me at the hospital; you're my ride, right?" Coverly nodded.

"Mr. Tucker. Can you hear me?" The lead EMS, who had introduced himself as Leo, dug his knuckle into Malcolm's sternum, trying to get a response. Malcolm didn't react.

The female EMS unpacked a portable oxygen unit and placed the mask over Malcolm's nose and mouth.

"Does he have any known medical conditions?" Leo asked Sam.

"Yes, he has asthma, or at least he did as a child. He still uses a rescue inhaler."

"Anything else? Any allergies to latex, betadine or pennicillin?"

"No, nothing," Sam answered. Nicola was beginning to wonder if there was something going on between Malcolm and his PA. She seemed awfully certain about the medical questions, Nicola mused. Perhaps the PAs at Number Ten needed to know those things for circumstances like this, though.

The female EMS pulled the trigger on an ear thermometer. The thermometer beeped a moment later and she showed the display to Leo. Leo spoke into his headset – likely to another EMS back on the ambulance. "Temperature is 41 C. Skin isn't rebounding well so he's dehydrated. Have the cold saline ready. Oxygen sat is at 70% with a non-rebreather mask."

The female tech unbuttoned Malcolm's shirt and was applying sticky pads for a heart rate monitor. In the middle of all this commotion, Malcolm suddenly flailed his arms, and Nicola heard choking noises coming from under the mask.

"Mask off, and roll him," Leo said to his partner, and then to Sam, "Please step back, ma'am, thanks." Sam stepped back, but not very far, her face a study of concern.

The EMS techs got the mask off and had Malcolm on his side when he coughed up a spray of bright red blood. One EMS rubbed his back as he coughed while the other placed a towel under Malcolm's head, catching the blood.

The coughing didn't last long. When it was over the EMS reapplied the mask and moved Malcolm on to the trolley. Leo stepped up to Sam.

"Okay, we need to move out. Mr. Tucker is very ill. We're taking him to St. Thomas's. His breathing is badly compromised, so on the way we're going to give him a breathing treatment to try to improve his oxygen saturation. We'll also give him IV saline to rehydrate him and try to get his fever down. Once he's there, the doctors will most likely want to do a head CT scan to check for fractures."

"Thanks for explaining everything." Sam looked over toward Nicola and motioned for her to approach. "This is Nicola Murray. She'll ride with Malcolm to hospital, if it's okay. I'd go, but I have to take care of a few very urgent things. Where do I go when I get to St. Thomas's?"

"Go to the Accident and Emergency entrance and give the receptionist his name. They will direct you from there."

* * *

Jamie skidded to a halt just outside of Malcolm's office to make way for the EMS team. They rolled Malcolm out on the trolley. Jamie's throat closed up with emotion when he saw Malcolm lying motionless, white as paper and covered in blood on one side. _Fuck, he looks bad,_ Jamie thought. He hurried behind the trolley, not wanting to be in the way, but wanting to get ahead of them so he could fend off any paparazzi as they left the building.

"Mate, could we cover his face as we go outside? We don't want any publicity on this." The burly EMS quickly covered Malc's face while Jamie moved ahead and opened the double doors so the EMS team could get through.

Sure enough, there were five or six reporters and several cameramen with full gear on display. Jamie squared his shoulders and went to war.

"You lot need to move on. There's nothing to see here, and nothing had better be in the papers tomorrow. You hear me? Get out of here before I take that fancy Nikon of yours and dash it into a million fucking pieces. And you, luv, I know where you work. _The Mirror_ must be pretty hard up for a story to send you out ambulance chasing. Don't you have better things to do? Go on, there's nothing here. Nothing is happening. Go away."

Jamie kept moving forward, forcing the queue back away from the ambulance.

"Jamie McDonald, I heard from a source that Malcolm Tucker collapsed during a meeting. Is that him on the trolley? Can you tell us what happened?"

"Was it a heart attack?"

"Were there drugs involved?"

"What was he doing when this happened?"

"Would you like to make a statement?"

Jamie didn't answer any questions. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nicola Murray come out behind the trolley and stand behind the ambulance doors, waiting to climb in. _What the fuck is Nicola fucking Murray doing riding to hospital with Malcolm?_ Jamie thought.

The press caught sight of her and swarmed past Jamie toward her.

"Nicola Murray, were you meeting with Malcolm when this happened?"

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"Are you riding to hospital with Malcolm?"

Nicola looked as if she was about to answer, but Jamie shot her a piercing look. _She'd better not._

"Erm, no comment at this time, thank you." Nicola hastened to climb into the back of the ambulance.

Jamie forced the press to back away from the loading zone as the EMS shut up the ambulance and got moving.

"Leave now. There is no story here. If I see any of your bylines under a story about an ambulance at Number Ten, your careers are over. You'll never get another lead from this office again. You will be persona non-fucking-grata. Get it? Goodbye."

Jamie went back inside and closed the doors firmly. He leaned against them for a moment as he got his breathing under control. Which bastard leaked this? Jamie had a pretty good idea who it might be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

I've had trouble accessing the FanFiction portal for the last two weeks and have no traffic stats for that time period, so I'm not sure if anyone's reading. I will keep publishing because momentum is on my side. If you're reading and so inclined, reviews are appreciated!

* * *

Nicola hoisted herself awkwardly into the ambulance and perched on the bench Leo's partner indicated. The Two EMSs loaded Malcolm and then climbed in. The driver shut the doors behind them and went round front and started the vehicle. Nicola felt giddy and had to close her eyes as the ambulance backed up and turned around.

The medics worked busily over Malcolm. In the cramped quarters, Nicola found herself much closer to the enforcer than she ever wanted to be. She couldn't help but watch as they efficiently removed his shirt and applied more sticky pads for monitors. He was painfully thin. His sternum and ribs stood out prominently under a light dusting of grey hair. As the female tech attached leads to the sticky pads several alarms started sounding on the equipment. Nicola could tell one of them was the one that showed Malcolm's temperature, because that number was red and flashing. The other one was the heart rate monitor.

"He's tachy."

"I know. We'll keep an eye on it. Paddles ready, just in case."

Once out on the main road, the driver turned on the siren. Nicola realised she'd never been in the back of an ambulance before.

"Did you get the line started yet?" Leo asked the female EMS.

Nicola saw she was trying to insert a needle into Malcolm's right forearm, which was secured to a plastic board to keep it straight.

"No, he's too dehydrated; his veins are rolling."

"Then get a butterfly needle and do a hand stick."

The female EMS got out a kit wrapped in plastic, and soon had a needle inserted into the back of Malcolm's right hand. She quickly hooked it up to a bag of clear fluid that Nicola assumed was saline.

Meanwhile, Leo had attached what looked almost like a plastic pipe to Malcolm's oxygen mask. A steamy white vapour collected inside the pipe. Malcolm coughed a little. Leo rubbed Malcolm's chest directly under the clavicle while studying one of the beeping monitors.

"Sat's coming up a little, but it's still too low. Are you sure the O2 is at 100 percent?"

The other EMS checked the dial on the oxygen canister. "Yes, it's all the way open."

"C'mon, Mr. Tucker, you can do better than that." Then to the female EMS "We may have to intubate."

From the comments from the EMS, Nicola assessed that the situation was pretty dire.

The EMSs took several cold packs out of a refrigerator unit and laid them on Malcolm's forehead, vital organs and groin. After about a minute the temperature monitor clicked down a few degrees and that alarm stopped sounding.

"Okay, that's looking better. Sats are coming up a little too with the albuterol," Leo commented. He dug a knuckle into Malcolm's sternum again. Malcolm flinched.

"Mr. Tucker, open your eyes. Mr. Tucker."

Malcolm cracked open his eyes, lolling his head around, obviously disoriented. Leo leaned in so he was directly in Malcolm's line of sight.

"Mister Tucker, you're very ill. You're in an ambulance and we're taking you to hospital. Do you remember what happened?" Malcolm looked confused and didn't respond.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Malcolm's eye met Nicola's and he seemed to recognise her.

"Malcolm, it's going to be okay, but you've got to answer their questions," she said, hoping that was the right thing to say.

Malcolm was still looking at Nicola when a new alarm sounded. He shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, groaning.

"V-fib. Paddles."

The female EMS handed Leo the defibrillator paddles. Just like on the doctor shows, he called "Clear!" and pressed them against Malcolm's chest, shocking his heart. Malcolm's body jerked slightly. Nicola jumped in sympathy, though Malcolm was unconscious again, or worse. Leo looked to the female EMS, who was monitoring the heart rate monitor.

"Nothing."

"Charge. Clear!"

Another shock, another jump. This time, they all heard the high-pitched alarm cease and the heart rate monitor return to a more normal beeping sound. Nicola took a deep breath and let it out shakily. _Fuck._

"Okay, he's back." Leo looked up at Nicola. "We're nearly there. I know that was scary, but his numbers are all looking better. They'll take good care of him."

Nicola saw they were pulling into the A&E ambulance bay. That felt like the longest ride of her life. She made ready to clamber down as soon as they unloaded Malcolm. By the time she was on solid ground again, the A&E staff had already whisked Malcolm away to parts unknown in the hospital.

Nicola walked into the A&E on shaky legs, feeling like it was possible she would vomit. She must've looked it when she approached the reception area, because the attendant asked her if she was a new patient.

"No, I just rode in with that last ambulance. The patient's name is Malcolm Tucker. Where should I go?"

"Are you the next of kin?"

"No, I – no, I work with him. I'm sorry, I don't know him well enough to be much use, really."

"No worries, ma'am. Why don't you go ahead and have a seat over there. If you'd like some water, there's a fountain right outside the restrooms."

Nicola visited both the restroom and the water fountain, and then collapsed into a chair, emotionally exhausted.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

This chapter is in honor of the American Labor Day (or Labour Day) holiday tomorrow. Enjoy!

* * *

"Geoffrey, Jamie McDonald here, how are you?" Jamie was amazed that he was able to sound so relaxed.

"Hello, Jamie, long time no talk. What's up?" Jamie thought Geoffrey probably knew exactly what was up.

"I saw one of your journalists out at Number Ten a few minutes ago. Cameraman, too."

"That's right, we got a tip – "

"Well, I wanted to let you know that I sent them packing. There will be no story."

"I'll be the judge of that – freedom of speech, remember, Jamie? Look, Sarah already checked in and told me she didn't get anything. All she has is that there was an ambulance at Number Ten and Nicola Murray was riding along with whoever was on the trolley."

"You're not going to fucking run with that, are you? Those facts can be interpreted a number of ways. There aren't even enough facts there to make it worth the ink. Is that really the type of news you want your paper to be known for? Before long, _The Guardian_ will be on the same rack as the tabloids with the UFO stories on the front page. Is that what you want?"

Silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Geoffrey said "Look, Jamie, the tip said Malcolm Tucker collapsed during a meeting. If that's true, then that is news. Word will get out eventually. Personally, I hope the son of a bitch is okay. We just want to get the facts out there before there's a lot of conjecture. I'd think you would want the same thing. Right?"

"I want to know who you got the tip from. And I don't want to hear about how you have to protect your sources. This is a serious breach, and I need to follow up."

"You know I can't tell you that."

"But you can, and you will, if you want to continue to receive leads on more noteworthy items from Number Ten, both officially and unofficially. Do you hear me?"

More silence from the editor-in-chief of _The Guardian_.

"Think it through, Geoffrey."

"The fact that you're the one calling me instead of Malcolm tells me it's probably true."

"You don't fucking know that. Malcolm is in the middle of reshuffle right now. Do you think he has time to be following up with the likes of you? Think about what I said, because I can make that happen. I can cut _The Guardian_ off. We've given you plenty of good exclusives in the past. That will be over. Now, it just so happens that I already know who gave you the tip. I'm just looking for confirmation. I'm going to say a name. All you have to say is yes to confirm that's who you got the tip from. Okay?"

Finally, after another lengthy pause, "Okay."

"Oliver Reeder."

"Yes."

"That's all I needed to know. Thanks, mate. And thanks for not running the story."

"Wait a minute, Jamie, I didn't say I wouldn't run the story. There were other press there. The story will get out. How about this? If we can confirm the information we have through another source, we'll run it by you first. Come on, meet me halfway here."

Jamie considered it. The reality was the story would eventually get out, but Jamie wanted the official word to come out as a prepared statement directly from Number Ten. Jamie could draft that pretty quickly and send it out on the Press Association newsfeed, but he needed clearance. Normally, Malcolm would be the one to give him the clearance. Fuck, he wished he could talk to the old bastard about it. He'd have to run it past someone. Possibly the PM.

"Let me think about that and get back to you. We'll talk later, mate."

Jamie disconnected. _Shit, this sucks_ , he thought. He searched his contacts for the editor of _The Daily Mail_. He'd have to have this same conversation at least two more times, and he wasn't sure what to do about the independent journalist.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, I thought you'd never get here." Nicola breathed a sigh of relief when Terri showed up in the A&E waiting area with Glen and Ollie in tow. Other than one woman sitting nearby who was working on her laptop, the waiting room was empty.

"Well, how is he? What's going on? You look wrung out, poor dear!"

Terri plopped down next to the minister and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Normally, Nicola would tell the public servant to back off, but right now, she needed some support. Her eyes filled with easy tears, and she struggled not to let them fall. Glen, Terri and Ollie all waited to hear about Malcolm. Nicola took a few deep breaths, trying to anchor herself.

"Malcolm is really sick. He woke up in the ambulance and seemed very confused. Then, he had a heart attack and they had to zap him with those things. It was awful."

"Well, I'm worried that he was coughing blood. That's a sign of tuberculosis. If he's got that, then we've all been exposed." Leave it to Reeder to make things even scarier. After this last week and especially the fateful meeting this morning, he was high on Nicola's shit list.

"Ollie, I sincerely doubt that Malcolm Tucker has tuberculosis. You should know it's largely found in immigrant and disadvantaged populations. Don't go and get everyone worked up about something like that." Glen cut his eyes to Nicola and back to Ollie. _You over-protective misogynist bastard_ , Nicola thought.

"Where is he now?" Glen asked.

"I dunno, they sped off with him as soon as we pulled in. I think they were going to do some scans."

Glen stood. "I'm going to see if I can find out what's going on. We probably don't need to stay, but maybe we should until Sam gets here. Shouldn't be long, she said she would be right behind us."

"What time is it?" Nicola asked Terri as she watched her senior adviser approach the reception desk.

"Ten o'clock."

"That's all? It feels much later than that."

"And you've still got the BBC at 16:00. Maybe we should run your lines a bit. It will help take your mind off of things."

Nicola mustered a smile for Coverly. As much as she disliked her, she appreciated her sensibility at times like this. "Good idea." She suddenly noticed that Ollie was no longer in the waiting area. "Where did Ollie get off to?"

"He's right there outside, on the phone." Terri gestured to the smoking area outside of the entrance.

"Fine. We don't need him. Let's get started." As she pulled her script out of her purse, Nicola noted the woman who had been working on her laptop pack up and exit through the sliding glass doors. She looked vaguely familiar, for some reason. Just then Glen returned from the desk, and Nicola forgot about the woman.

"Well, they didn't really want to tell me anything, but I found out that Malcolm is in the intensive care unit on the second floor. Why don't we go up? When Sam gets here, that's where they 'll send her."

"Good idea," Terri stood. "Nicola and I can find a bolt hole and run lines."

"Where's Ollie?" Glen asked. Nicola couldn't resist a terse reply.

"He's out there on the phone. Let's leave him to it for now." Surprisingly, Neither Glen or Terri moved to let Ollie know where they were going. Nicola grinned slightly. Good to know she wasn't the only one who felt he was being a prat.

* * *

Jamie finished his calls to the media and headed up to the PM's office a little after 10 a.m. He wanted to check in with the PM's PA about cabinet and for protocol about getting a statement about Malcolm approved. He also hoped to catch Dan Miller as he arrived for cabinet to discuss the Angela Heaney article. On his way down the hall, Julius Nicholson spied him as he was headed in the opposite direction and did a course correct to catch up with Jamie.

"The PM just recorded his address, so I'm popping out for a quick bite before cabinet. Want to join me?"

"No, I can't man, I've got several things to chase down. You say the PM just finished his address? Do you think he'd have time to approve a message for PA publication?"

"That's Malcolm's job. You know that. No need to bother the PM with things like that. Let it be Tucker's problem, right? I'm sure he's in the building. He's got cabinet today, too."

Jamie mentally ground his teeth. What to say? This was the fucking ponce who just leaked news that Dan Miller was on medication for depression. He couldn't see his way clear to telling him about Malcolm. At the same time, even though Julius and Malcolm were usually at opposite ends, Jamie knew they had a healthy respect for one another and even saw each other socially upon occasion. Better not to risk it, though.

"You're right, I'll probably see him before cabinet. Have a nice lunch." Jamie continued down the hallway toward the PM's office, thankful that Julius resumed his quest for food rather than following him.


	10. Chapter 10

Jamie headed back downstairs at Number Ten with a lighter heart. He'd talked to Sue and managed to get a few minutes with the PM, who approved the Press Association communication and also excused Jamie from cabinet so he could follow up on media control.

As the PA got the statement out about Malcolm, the media would pick it up or not, but it would force them into official channels at Number Ten for further updates. It would hopefully take the piss out of the balls-up with the media sighting of the ambulance, should that get out in spite of Jamie's efforts.

On his way out of the PM's office he ran into Dan Miller and got a few minutes with him over the Angela Heaney piece. Jamie hadn't worked much with Miller. Now that he knew Malcolm was positioning him for International Affairs, he paid close attention to how the junior minister was handling himself in this difficult situation.

Miller had awoken to press outside his downtown flat, and that's how he had learned about the write up. Given that rude awakening, he did not comment and called Malcolm, who was probably already on his way to A&E at the time.

Jamie coached him on what to say upon his next encounter with any press. While he did not share that Malcolm was out, Jamie encouraged Dan to contact him in Malcolm's place for the duration of the crisis. Jamie set a reminder on his Blackberry to check in with Dan in the evening to get an update, and also to continue to monitor the news feeds in case the story got legs.

Relieved of the burden of attending cabinet, Jamie released the approved message to the PA and headed out on foot for St. Thomas's.

* * *

The Intensive Care Unit was about what Nicola expected: tasteful, yet stark, cold and sterile. A small seating area in the second floor lobby was positioned behind an unmanned reception desk. The ICU itself was only a few steps behind a patient monitoring station that sported an impressive array of technology. Glen popped around the corner and was soon back.

"I found him. This way."

Nicola had a feeling they weren't supposed to go into the ICU without at least providing some identification, but she followed Glen all the same. The dramatic experiences of the morning had caused Nicola to revisit her whole perspective on Malcolm over the past week. She was convinced now that even right after her Pathfinders launch catastrophe, his intent was to help her get through the crisis and to coach Ollie, who was clearly not up to snuff. Seeing Malcolm so vulnerable in the ambulance awakened her nurturing instincts, and she wanted to make sure he was okay, and try to repair their relationship, if it needed repairing, after all of this was over.

Malcolm was in a room with two beds, but the second one wasn't occupied. He lay there, pale and unconscious, as a nurse sutured the gash on his forehead. Several wires peeked out of the neckline of his hospital gown. He still wore an oxygen mask. Someone had cleaned up the blood, and Nicola could see the beginnings of a very impressive bruise that spread from his hairline midway down his temple, and curved across his cheekbone under his eye.

Nicola heard a gasp and saw Terri turn away, averting her eyes. The nurse noticed their presence and made eye contact with Glen. "Hi there, may I help you?"

Glen cleared his throat. "Yes. We're co-workers of Mr. Tucker. We were there when he collapsed, and we came by to see how he is doing."

Apparently done with the suturing job, the nurse stripped off her gloves, pushed the tray that held the dressings and suture kit debris against the wall and joined them in the hallway.

"I'm sorry, but right now visitors are restricted to just family. I understand his wife is on the way. If you'd like, you can wait out here in the lobby." She led them back out to the lobby to the reception desk, which was now staffed by a male attendant. "This is Stewart. Stewart, these are colleagues of Mr. Tucker. We're waiting on Mrs. Tucker."

Stewart directed them to the lobby, where they plunked down. They were the only people in the lobby, so Terri and Nicola worked on her lines while Glen observed and gave feedback. Nicola challenged herself to say Dovydas, instead of using his last name, and found it was getting easier. She was still worried about fucking things up even further during the apology, but vowed to do her best in Malcolm's honor. She now believed that he believed in her, and that helped.

They were interrupted when the elevator doors opened and Sam bustled out, her heels clacking loudly on the ceramic tile. She did not stop at reception, but headed intently toward the ward.

Nicola got up and chased after her. "Sam, I'm afraid it's family only for now – " but Sam continued on into the room, where the nurse was attending to Malcolm's IV lines. Nicola watched as Sam put her hand on Malcolm's chest and brushed his cheek lightly. Her whole countenance spoke of deep concern.

Nicola felt a presence behind her and realised Glen had joined her. "Come back to the lobby, Nicola, they need their privacy."

"So, are they an item?" she spluttered. "Does everybody know about this but me?"

Glen led her back to the lobby. "Nicola, they're married. Sam is Malcolm's wife."

"The hell you say! Malcolm's not married?"

"You may have noticed that he wears a ring."

"Yes, but I thought it was just a cover up for a deeply closeted gay lifestyle. Who the hell would marry the likes of Malcolm Tucker?" Now Nicola recalled that the nurse had said his wife was on the way.

"Apparently, Sam." Terri offered. So Coverly knew, too. Nicola felt like an idiot.

"And this is condoned at Number Ten? Malcolm married his PA?"

"Well, they were married before Sam was his PA. They've been married for a long time, Nicola." Terri sounded exasperated that this was all news to Nicola.

"I think they got married when Malcolm was still in the press corps. She was already in the administrative pool at Number Ten when he was Communications Director for the opposition. That's when I first worked with him, and I know they were married before then." Leave it to Glen to know the full back-story.

"Does Ollie know this, too?"

"I imagine so. I thought everybody knew." Terri cast her eyes to the side, her non-verbals accenting the passive-aggressive dig at Nicola.

 _Malcolm Tucker, you are such a mystery man_ , Nicola thought. Everything she thought she knew about him was basically over-turned in one morning. Unbelievable.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:**

This chapter has a lot of medical information. Please note that I am not a medical practitioner or in any way affiliated with the HCS. I've taken liberty with some of the details to support what's coming up in future chapters, so please don't assume any of the "doc talk" in here is factual. Reviews are appreciated. Thanks!

* * *

"Jesus, Malcolm." Sam finally let the tears escape, not caring that the nurse saw; she was sure the nurse had probably seen it all in her career. Sam rubbed his chest, but he didn't respond. She cupped his cheek, looking at the colourful bruise spreading down from his hairline on the left. Several tidy sutures stood out from the gash on his forehead. He was still very warm, but perhaps not as warm as before.

"Are you Mrs. Tucker?" Sam nodded, never taking her eyes off of Malcolm.

"I'm Abbie, one of the ICU nurses. I'm going to step out and get the doctor."

"Okay, great, thanks," Sam breathed, still unable to move her eyes from her unconscious husband.

After the DoSAC crew left Number Ten for hospital, Sam called Sue and alerted her to the situation. The PM was already in the White State Drawing Room for the filming of his morning address, but Sue promised to notify him as soon as he returned. That done, Sam assessed the state of Malcolm's desk to determine if any of the paperwork looked sensitive enough to need securing. She shut down his laptop and used her spare key to his desk to lock it in the bottom drawer. Finally, she forwarded both of Malcolm's office lines and her own to Sue's number.

After one final scan of Malcolm's office, she headed to the car and drove carefully to St. Thomas's. Traffic was heavy, and she caught her mind wandering repeatedly to that first moment she saw Malcolm on the floor behind his desk, covered in blood. She would probably never be able to get that image out of her head.

She struggled to let go of her anxiety about what might be happening to him now, or what might have already happened in the ambulance. The moment they'd left she regretted her decision. She felt horrible about not riding with him. What kind of wife was she to put politics and work ahead of being with her husband when he was desperately ill?

 _A good one_ , she heard Malcolm's raspy voice speak up inside of her. She knew if he were available for consultation, he would have told her to stay and police things instead of riding with him. But then again, he had always put work ahead of his own wellbeing, and that's how they had gotten to this point. _Oh, Malcolm. Please pull through this. And when you do, things have got to change_.

"Mrs. Tucker?" A somewhat heavy-set man of Indian descent about Malcolm's age in a white coat approached Sam, his hand extended in greeting. He had a large folder of what looked like x-rays under one arm. She shook the offered hand. "I'm Doctor Ravi Rahman, the attending physician. You can call me Doctor Ravi."

"Hi, I'm Sam."

"Great, Sam. I'm glad you found us okay. I understand you were there when your husband collapsed?"

Sam used a tissue to wipe her eyes and cleared her throat. "Just after, actually. He was in a meeting. He's been working very hard and not taking very good care of himself. This morning his breathing sounded terrible and he had a high fever. I was trying to arrange an appointment with his physician when this happened."

Doctor Ravi nodded compassionately. "That had to be very frightening. From what I heard from the EMS, you did everything right in a crisis."

Sam found herself tearing up again, grateful for the validation.

Dr. Ravi moved to Malcolm's side, studying the monitors. "When your husband arrived, his temperature was 40 degrees Celsius, or 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Since then, we've got his fever down to 38 degrees through use of cold saline IV and a cooling blanket."

"How is his head?"

"I understand he hit it on a marble flooring. If that's the case, then he got lucky. He's got a grade three concussion, but no fractures and no bleeding into the brain."

"Grade three concussion. What does that mean?"

"A grade three concussion means Malcolm lost consciousness due to head injury. I understand from the EMS report that he regained consciousness briefly in the ambulance, but was unable to answer their questions before he lost consciousness again. That's not uncommon. We did a head CT scan and that's how we determined that there was no inter-cranial bleeding.

"When he regains consciousness I will ask him a series of questions to gauge his mental status. He may not remember much about today. It's not uncommon for a patient with a concussion to not remember events directly preceding the injury.

"He will probably be very sleepy and giddy over the next few days, and might be nauseous as well. We'll need to keep an eye on that. Your husband is very thin. His body mass index is 19. For some people that's considered a normal, healthy BMI, but judging from his physical condition, in my book, your husband is underweight and cannot afford to lose more weight. If he has a lot of nausea or is not eating, we may need to consider putting in a nasal-gastric tube to provide supplemental nutrition. That requires surgery, which we want to avoid if at all possible, especially while he's febrile."

Sam felt a few more tears escape. _Malcolm would hate that_ , she thought. _The stubborn git_. "Do you know what's wrong with him yet?"

Dr. Ravi nodded, taking the folder of films from under his arm and moving to the light board mounted on the wall on the other side of Malcolm's bed. "Yes. Your husband has bi-lateral pneumonia, meaning that it's in both lungs, and fairly well-established." He turned on the light board, revealing a scan of two lungs, with lots of colourful areas. "We did an HRCT – a high-resolution computed tomography. HRCT gives much more detail than traditional x-rays, and is a better way of diagnosing most lung ailments.

"Has your husband had problems with pneumonia in the past?"

"Yes, he gets it once or twice a year, or sometimes bronchitis."

"I see a lot of scarring in both lungs. Some of that might be the result of repeated pneumonia infections, but most of the scarring isn't consistent with that. What do you know of Malcolm's medical history other than the pneumonia and bronchitis? Has he ever smoked?"

"No, he never smoked. He had asthma as a child, and he still uses a rescue inhaler. The only time he ever tried smoking was when someone in the office gave him a box of cigars. He only managed a puff or two and he apparently got quite giddy and nauseous. I wasn't there, but his co-workers never tire of telling the story. To my knowledge, he never tried it again."

Dr. Ravi raised an eyebrow at that. "Interesting." He paused and studied the film further. "I must tell you, Sam, that looking at these scans, I see no evidence that your husband ever had asthma."

"No asthma? But that can't be right. He had it growing up. He still has problems with his breathing."

"This scarring is more consistent with years of heavy smoking or an acute injury caused by chemical inhalation that went untreated. We see this in military personnel who have been exposed to chemical substances such as mustard or chlorine gas, or industrial workers who are frequently exposed to toxins. In your husband's case, the scarring is bad enough that he may now have a condition called idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. 'Ideopathic' just means we don't know what caused the damage."

Sam had no reply to that.

"Are you aware of any situations where your husband was exposed to a strong substance, like ammonia or chlorine?"

"No, nothing like that. He's in government communications. He's never been in the military or worked around chemicals."

"Anything in his childhood?"

"I – I don't know. I could check with his sister. Maybe she remembers something. So, you're saying that all this time, Malcolm's breathing problems have been because of this scarring? That sounds serious."

Dr. Ravi didn't respond to that. Sam suddenly felt a little giddy. She breathed in deeply. Dr. Ravi had a hand on her elbow in an instant.

"Do you need to sit down, Sam?" He led her over to one of the two chairs in the room. Sam accepted it gratefully.

"Sorry, I'm just a little overwhelmed, I think."

"No worries. I know it's been a stressful morning, and now I am telling you difficult news on top of it. Take your time."

"No really, I'm fine. Please, go on."

"Okay. When Malcolm regains consciousness he might be able to recall something to help us understand how the scarring occurred, but for now, we don't have to know in order to treat the pneumonia. He's on two antibiotics plus an antipyretic to reduce the fever. He is also on oxygen, as I'm sure you've noticed. We'll keep him on a mask for now, but as he recovers we can move him to a nasal cannula, which is more comfortable for most patients and less scary looking for their loved ones.

"As a result of the pneumonia and also this scarring, Malcolm is having a very hard time breathing. The EMS administered a breathing treatment in the ambulance using albuterol, which is a medication often used to treat asthma. We'll continue to administer breathing treatments twice a day until his oxygen levels start to come up on their own. Even after he leaves the hospital, albuterol and oxygen may be part of his ongoing therapy."

"When EMS was working on him in the office, Malcolm coughed up some blood. Is there any chance he has Tuberculosis?"

"No, I highly doubt that, though we administered a TB test and will also request his records from his physician just to be safe. Coughing blood could be from a number of things. Excessive or prolonged coughing fits can cause irritation of the lungs and the throat that leads to blood in the sputum, or coughing up blood." Dr. Ravi referred back to Malcolm's scans. "In Malcolm's case, it could've been that, or it could be from tearing of the scar tissue as a result of the coughing. I noted that finding in the EMS report, but I don't think it's anything to be overly worried about at this point. We will continue to monitor him for it."

"Okay, that's a relief. So, what else do I need to know about this condition? I mean, are you sure he has it? Are there more tests to do?"

"First, let's treat the pneumonia and wait for Malcolm to wake up. There are more tests we can do once the pneumonia is sorted and then we can come up with a longer-term treatment plan for the scarring. I'm not one hundred percent sure it's IPF. We'll need to do some pulmonary function tests, where we measure Malcolm's ability to absorb oxygen and get rid of carbon dioxide, and we may need to do a lung biopsy for definitive diagnosis."

"One final thing I need to tell you. On the ride over in the ambulance, Malcolm's heart went into fine ventricular fibrillation, or v-fib. That can happen sometimes when a patient is very sick, feverish or dehydrated."

 _Oh my God, and I wasn't there_ , Sam thought. "Is that a heart attack?"

"Not in the traditional sense, no. His heart never stopped. In v-fib, the ventricles of the heart beat so rapidly that the heart can't pump blood effectively until it is restored to its normal rhythm. The EMS used a defibrillator to shock his heart into a normal rhythm. From what I see on the scans, his heart is fine."

"This is a lot to take in."

"I'm sorry, I know this is frightening, and a lot to go through all at once. Is there someone we can call for you?"

Sam shook her head. "No, but thanks. I will call his sister, who I'm sure will head this way as soon as she can make arrangements, and Malcolm's closest friend will likely be here later today." Jamie hadn't said he'd come to hospital, but Sam knew he would, even with cabinet.

"Okay. I'm on duty until 16:00 today, and I will be in to check on Malcolm before then. Please take good care, and let Abbie know if there is anything you need. She's right around the corner at the nurse's station."

"Thank you, Doctor Ravi. You've been great."

The doctor left and Sam returned to Malcolm's bedside. She just wanted to bury her head on his chest and cry her eyes out. How could this be happening?


	12. Chapter 12

When he arrived at St. Thomas's A&E, Jamie spotted the leaky little fucker smoking a fag outside the entrance. He was alone. Good. Jamie let his inner animal out of its cage.

Ollie yelled with surprise when a strong hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around. Jamie felt his face curl up in a tight grin as he pushed Reeder up against the wall.

"Jamie, I – "

"Listen you little prick, you fucking one-balled bastard, you cup of runny jizzum, I'm on to you."

"What? I don't know what you're –"

Jamie gave a strong shake of Ollie's lapels. "Shut up. Don't say a thing or by God I will pound your face beyond all recognition. You called the press. You tipped them off about Malcolm. Don't deny it." Spittle flew in the course of Jamie's tirade. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears.

"Jamie, I don't know what you're talking about!" Reeder's voice cracked like a twelve-year-old's.

"Bullshit. I talked to Geoffrey, I talked to Marcus and I talked to that bint at _The Mail_ and they all said they got it from you. You fucking little weasel." Jamie pressed Ollie further back into the building by the throat. The junior adviser shrieked like a girl. Jamie was enjoying this way too much. He breathed, trying to calm down. Things could get out of hand if he didn't master himself. He released Ollie roughly. Ollie clutched at his throat and gasped dramatically.

"Who else did you tell?"

"No one! "

"That's a lie. Try again. Who?"

"Emma Messenger, my girl."

"Your girl who works for the opposition? Perfect. Great. Fuck you very much. You just created a whole cauldron of shit for your girlfriend because I'm going to go see her next."

"No, Jamie, please leave her out of this. She's not going to tell anyone. She was pissed that I even called her."

"Get on your phone right now. Call her. While I'm standing here. Do it now."

Ollie took out his phone with shaky hands and struggled to hit speed dial. They both listened to it ring. Jamie could hear Emma's frustrated answer.

"Fuck's sake, Ollie, will you leave me alone already?"

"Give me the phone," the enforcer's apprentice demanded. Ollie complied. Jamie held the phone to his ear and smiled at Ollie, who was a sweaty, shaky mess.

"Emma Messenger, this is Jamie McDonald, and I'm here with your boyfriend." Jamie put the phone on speaker so Ollie could benefit from her side of the conversation.

"Jamie?" A very wary tone from the girlfriend. She knew this couldn't be good.

"Yes, I'm here with Ollie, and I understand he fed you some fuckin story this morning about Malcolm Tucker. Is that correct? What'd he tell you, luv?"

Emma paused before responding. Ollie waited on tenterhooks.

"He said Malcolm keeled over in a meeting and an ambulance was coming. I told him he was sick."

"Good for you, lass. Now, you know he was only telling you that to try to impress you, right?" Ollie cringed.

"Yeah, I suppose,"

"And you haven't repeated that to anyone over there in opposition, right?"

"No, I haven't. We wouldn't do anything with it, anyway. That's below the line."

"I agree with you, Luv. But consider the source. Your boyfriend is just a puffed up little zit, wanting to feel important. Maybe you should consider dropping him, lass. Think it over. Bye."

Jamie disconnected and tossed the phone back to Reeder, who fumbled it and had to stoop to pick it up from the ground. Jamie slapped him hard on the back while he was stooped over as he headed into A&E. Ollie made a very satisfying "Oof" sound. Jamie grinned again.

"Keep the faith, bro."

In the elevator up to ICU-2, Jamie took measured breaths, fighting the animal back into it's cage. One of these days, he feared, it would cut loose and cause some serious damage. For now, he only let it out under exigent circumstances. It was always very hard to reel it back in.

* * *

Sam collected herself and went to talk to Nicola and her team, who she noticed in the waiting area on her way in. First she used the sink in the bathroom just outside of the ICU to rinse her face and get rid of her raccoon eyes from crying. When she finally felt marginally presentable, she stepped out into the waiting area. Nicola was on her feet in an instant, followed by Terri and Glen.

"Sam, how is he?" Nicola looked compassionate and concerned. The minister even reached out and gave her arm a comforting squeeze. Sam appreciated the support, but was confused by the change in demeanor. She'd always had the sense that Nicola hated Malcolm. Of course, most people he worked with felt that way about him at least some of the time.

"Nicola, thank you so much for riding with him. He may not have known you were there, but I'm sure he would have appreciated it."

"He did wake up briefly, and I think he recognised me. He's very sick, isn't he?"

Sam breathed, trying to maintain her composure. It wouldn't take much to get her crying again, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop. "Yes, he is. It's pneumonia, apparently. And he got a concussion when he fell."

"Did he fracture his skull?" Glen asked.

"No no fractures, thank goodness. They've got him on medication for the pneumonia and it looks like they're taking very good care of him. I need to get back in there, but I wanted to thank you again for your help today."

Just then, Jamie exited the elevator and spied the queue in the waiting area. He strode straight to Sam, ignoring Nicola and her team, and gave her a great big hug. Sam couldn't hold the tears back anymore and buried her face in his chest. A sob escaped her. She felt more than saw Jamie waving the DoSAC team toward the elevator. _He's just a great big protective bear_ , she thought, _no wonder Malcolm is so fond of him_. He squeezed her tighter for a moment, and then let her go.

Jamie guided her into a chair and went to fetch a cup of water. She got the crying under control while he was away, and did her best to clean up her runny nose and blotchy face.

"Thank you Jamie. And thanks for getting rid of DoSAC. I couldn't hold it together any longer."

"No worries, Luv. How are you holding up?"

"Not so good, apparently," she let out a teary laugh. "I should have paid attention to your text this morning and sent Nicola away when she arrived. I just knew he really thought the meeting was important."

"You did just fine, Sam. Malcolm would tell you the same. How is he doing?"

Sam sniffed. "Jamie, he's really ill. He's got pneumonia and a concussion, and apparently there's something seriously wrong with his lungs. I'm scared to death." She cried a little more, holding her soggy tissue up to her eyes. Jamie gave her a clean handkerchief. _Who still carries handkerchiefs?_ Sam thought. _Malcolm and Jamie, that's who_.

"Is he awake? Does he know what's going on?"

"No, not yet. He's out cold. And he hasn't slept in days. Even if he weren't sick, he'd be out like a light. He's just exhausted."

"Sam, I talked with the PM, and I skipped cabinet so I could handle the press and come over here. I know Malcolm had a plan for cabinet, but I don't have any idea what it was, so it wouldn't have mattered if I was there."

"The press already got word of it?"

"Yes. There was a leak. I know who it was and I've already dealt with it. There will be no more leaks. I did an official statement and ran it by the PM, and that's out on the PA now. That should control the media a bit, but it's possible some press could still get out. There was one independent journalist there when the ambulance came. I have no contact information for her, so it's possible she could go to one of the tabloids."

"Oh, Malcolm will have a fit if that happens."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I will do a little more damage control after I leave here, but I wanted to let you know just in case."

"Jamie, they're in the middle of reshuffle. Malcolm has a lot of critical things he was working on. What's going to happen now?"

"I dunno. The PM asked me if I could pick things up while Malcolm is out, but I know zilch about what's going on and Malcolm's priorities."

"I'm sure Malcolm would want you and only you to cover for him. When he's awake, if he's able to I'm sure he will fill you in."

"I suppose I could also get with Julius to get his take on things. I know he and Malcolm are at opposite poles, but at least I can get the lay of the land."

"That sounds like a good idea, Jamie. Look, I know you've got a lot to be getting on with, and I hope you know Malcolm thinks the world of you. He trusts you and that doesn't happen very often. Would you like to come back and see him before you go?"

Jamie's expression softened. Sam knew Jamie would do anything for Malcolm, and he was demonstrating that right now. "Sure, that would be great. Thanks, Sam."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note:**

It's been a while since we've heard from Malcolm. He resurfaces in this chapter. Sort of. Reviews are much appreciated!

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

Earlier today, Number Ten issued a statement to the Press Association that Malcolm Tucker, the Director of Communications at Downing Street, has been hospitalised due to illness. There are no details about the nature of Tucker's illness at this time. As they become available, we will be sure to keep you up to date. We hope he has a speedy recovery.

I have Nicola Murray back with me today along with Dovydas Kazys, who joins us from Sheffield. Earlier in the week, Mrs. Murray presented Mr. Kazys with the first ever fourth sector pathfinder award for his courageous actions that led to the arrest of vandals at the Millennium museum. Welcome back, Dovydas and Nicola.

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

Yes, it's good to be back, George, and thanks so much for coming in all the way from Sheffield, Dovydas. I trust you are well and didn't have too much difficulty getting to London?

 **DOVYDAS KAZYS:**

Not too much trouble, no. But I'd ask the same of you. How did you get here with the car service not running?

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

[Amused Laugh] Yes, well, I must say I've been getting more exercise these last few days!

[With direct eye contact] Seriously, though, Dovydas, I am so grateful for an opportunity to see you again. The last time we met, things didn't go at all as I'd planned. We were there to honor you for a courageous act, and I ended up mispronouncing your name and insulting you.

I can't tell you how sorry I am about that. I think you are an incredible man and an exemplary citizen, Dovydas. By way of apology, I worked with the minister of transportation, who is organising an inquiry into the renewal delays. He agreed to extend your permit renewal an additional year in recognition of your exemplary record and in honor of your tremendous contribution to the community. You truly are a pathfinder, and I can't thank you enough. Dovydas, will you accept my apology?

 **DOVYDAS KAZYS:**

Yes, I will, and I will also accept that renewal extension. I hope the inquiry gets to the bottom of the problem so the many cabbies who are still unable to work while they wait for their permit renewals can get on with it.

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

[Warmly shaking hands with Dovydas Kazys] Thank you so much!

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

And thank you Nicola Murray, Dovydas Kazys.

[Facing camera] We'll go to an advert now and then move to analysis of this morning's address from the Prime Minister.

[Roll theme music]

* * *

Jamie knocked on Nicholson's office door and entered. Julius had the television on BBC, so he had either been watching Nicola's apology as well, or was just tuning in for the commentary on the PM's morning address.

"Jamie, come on in! Just catching up on the news of the day. Nicola did well, don't you think? I'm so sorry to hear about Malcolm. I'm assuming you were the one who got the announcement out to the PA. Did you end up running it past the PM?"

"Yes, I did. Sorry I couldn't be more transparent when you saw me this morning. There had already been a fairly significant leak, and we had press queued up like prozzies on a street corner."

"I understand. No worries! One can't be too careful with news these days, especially when it comes to Malcolm Tucker. Knowledge is power, what?"

Julius had a cryptic expression on his face. Jamie wondered what was going on behind there.

"So, will you be picking things up while Malcolm is out?"

Jamie took a seat across from Nicholson. "Yes, I will, though I'm short on information going into this reshuffle. I was hoping you could fill me in a bit."

"Malcolm played his cards close to the vest, hmm? Have you spoken with him at all since this morning?"

"No. I visited the hospital mid-day, but he wasn't conscious. Sam said she'd text me as soon as he's awake, but we don't know when that will be, so for now I have to punt."

Julius had that thoughtful expression again, as if he was deciding whether or not to take a risk.

"Listen, Jamie, I was just getting ready to go. How about get a bite to eat and I will fill you in on reshuffle?"

Internally, Jamie groaned. Two nights in a row that he wouldn't be home for dinner wouldn't earn him any accolades with Bev. At the same time, he really needed more information quickly, and here was Nicholson, offering to help.

"Sure thing, mate, only not Indian, okay? Had that last night. Let me just pop down to the office and grab my things and give the wife a call. Fifteen minutes?"

That wary look again from Julius. "It's a plan. See you shortly, then."

* * *

I _t was warm in the shed. The bright July sun pounded down on the aluminum roof, making the interior much warmer than the temperature outside. Malcolm felt sweat dripping down his brow and into his eyes, which stung horribly._

 _Malcolm didn't know how long he'd been in here – ages, it felt like. He lay on his side on the musty dirt floor. He tried wiggling his hands again, but they were securely fastened along with his feet by his father's belt._ Hogtied _, Malcolm remembers hearing on a TV programme._ So this is what that is. _His hands felt swollen and congested with blood, like the time he put a rubber band around his wrist to see what would happen. He couldn't feel his feet at all._

 _He drew in a shallow breath and his throat and lungs burned. His nose ran and his eyes teared. The smell was coming from the large drum in the corner. Malcolm thought of his Mum's washing because it was a smell he associated with that, only this was like a million times stronger. He pictured the jug of bleach she kept in an upper cabinet._

 _He ventured another shallow breath and a whimper slipped out as he exhaled. It hurt so bad. His stomach churned, and he tried to lift his head because he knew what was coming, but the sick shot out of him and rolled down his cheek and chin, a white foam that dripped onto the ground in a pool of bubbles. The way he was tied prevented him from rolling over, so he lay there in his own drying sick, raking in careful breaths, rasping out fire._

 _He didn't even know what he did to deserve this punishment. One minute he was helping his dad tinker with the car, which wasn't working, fetching him spanners and such, and next his father knocked him to the ground and started kicking him. He must have blacked out, because when he woke up he was here in the shed, hogtied, and his dad was nowhere to be seen._

 _When Malcolm could see the sun nearing the horizon from the small dingy window that faced west he heard footsteps outside and a key rattle in the padlock. The lock was removed and the door pulled open to reveal his father in the shadow cast by the shed. Blessed air wafted in, causing Malcolm to shiver and cough uncontrollably and struggle not to vomit again. His limbs were suddenly freed. Pins and needles assaulted him. He felt like he was losing control of his body. When he could finally open his eyes again, his father was gone. The door stood open._

Malcolm awoke suddenly, gasping and shaking. Cool hands guided him to lie back on the bed.

"Ssh, Malc, you're alright, Luv, just a dream." Sam's soothing voice. Thank God – that meant he wasn't six years old anymore.

"Your fever just broke. Here, keep this on," Professional hands pressed the oxygen mask back into place. "This is good! You're on the mend. I'm going to fetch the doctor."

The nurse left the room. Sam leaned over him, cupping his face with her wonderfully cool hand. She looked very tired.

"Oh, Malcolm. You frightened me so!"

Tears now. Fuck.

He tried to talk but found it difficult with the mask. His head was throbbing. Shit, he was tired. His eyelids drooped closed on their own accord.

"Don't worry about anything. Just sleep. I'm right here."

Malcolm faded.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:**

This is a short one for now. There may not be another update until next week. Thanks for the follows, favorites and reviews – the best possible motivator!

* * *

Malcolm swatted reflexively at what he thought was a bee but turned out to be a middle-aged Indian man digging a knuckle into his sternum. When Malcolm opened his eyes the man smiled. His skin was the colour of good curry, and the wrinkles around his friendly brown eyes crinkled up pleasantly when he smiled. Malcolm liked him immediately.

"Welcome back, Mister Tucker. Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital." Malcolm was shocked by how weak his voice sounded. He also became aware of the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, which further muffled his voice. The man didn't seem to have difficulty understanding him, though.

"That is correct. Do you know why you're in hospital?"

Malcolm saw Sam on his right side out of the corner of his eye. She smiled at him and took his hand.

"Dunno. My head hurts." Malcolm felt that wasn't quite the whole story, but it was hard to think. The light was hurting his eyes, so he closed them. A moment later he received another knuckle treatment to his sternum. _Fuck, quit it already._ He cracked his eyes open again, hoping he looked as annoyed as he felt.

"Sorry, but please try to stay awake, okay? I am Doctor Ravi, and I am here with your wife. You are very ill, and also fell and hit your head. I need to ask you some questions to evaluate your mental status, okay?"

Malcolm grunted, too tired to put up much of a fight.

"Good! First, please state your full name."

"Malcolm. Tucker."

"Any middle name?"

 _Shit. You have to ask this?_ "Alastair." He saw Sam smile at that. She knew how much he hated his middle name. Malcolm turned his head towards her, but Dr. Ravi grasped his arm to get his attention back.

"Not just yet. I know you'd rather talk to Sam than to me, she's much prettier, but we just have a few more questions to get through."

"Uh." Malcolm returned his attention to the doctor. He felt decidedly nauseous from turning his head to the side and back, and his vision was a little swimmy.

"What's today's date?"

Malcolm produced the correct date. Now saliva was shooting off in his mouth. He closed his eyes again and breathed in, trying to control the nausea.

"Are you feeling sick?"

"Uh," Malcolm panted. He felt gentle hands remove the oxygen mask and hold a plastic basin next to his chin just in time. He vomited a little and then relaxed back into the pillow, exhausted. His throat burned and his eyes were streaming. The gentle hands wiped his face with a damp cloth. He felt something rigid go up his nose, and felt his sinuses immediately get dry as cool oxygen flowed out of the cannula. _Good, let's lose the facemask if I'll be puking_ , he thought. He cracked his eyes open again and saw Sam standing by with a cup of water with a straw. He gratefully accepted the gift of the cool water, swishing to get rid of the taste of bile.

"Feeling better?" Dr. Ravi asked.

"Yes," Malcolm rasped. Without the mask, he sounded a little more like himself, but could barely speak above a whisper.

"Good. One more question, and then I will let you rest your voice and I will talk for a while. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I – uh." Malcolm drew a blank. "I had Indian food for dinner. Jamie brought it. Cinnamon Club. That was last night."

"You don't remember anything from this morning?"

Malcolm tried. His head hurt. He was tired. Surely there was something he could remember from today?

"Sam brought me paracetamol. And orange juice. This morning." Sam squeezed his hand.

"Okay, you did well, Mister Tucker. You are oriented to place and time, and remember significant people and details. You will probably remember more about today as you heal. Don't worry too much that things are a little hazy."

"Tired." Malcolm let his eyes fall shut. He just couldn't keep them open anymore.

This time there was no pain from a knuckle to his sternum.

"That's okay. Rest for now. We'll talk more in the morning. Sam is here with you."

Doctor Ravi's voice followed him down a dark tunnel into dreamless sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:**

Thanks so much for the kind reviews, favorites and follows! You inspired me to get another chapter up quickly, with quite a few more in the works. There is still a lot of story to tell, so I will keep plugging along. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Jamie left the restaurant and headed to St. Thomas's on foot. It was a longish walk, since Julius had chosen an out of the way steakhouse for their dialogue. With the cabbie's union strike, Jamie had certainly gotten his share of exercise over the last few days.

Earlier in the evening he'd had word from Tom that the LTDA would announce the return to service of London's nearly ten thousand livery drivers beginning at eight the next morning. It would be a relief to have the transport debacle sorted so he could move on to other matters.

On the way to St. Thomas's he called Dan Miller to get a sense of how the day went and whether there was a full commode preparing to spill rations of shit around Dan's use of antidepressants. Again, he was pleasantly surprised when Dan described a brief and well-handled encounter with the media as cabinet let out. On his own, Dan came up with the idea of getting some friendly press about his long-standing support of MIND – The National Association for Mental Health. Jamie thought it was a great idea and texted Nick to set up an interview and be Dan's handler.

Thinking back over the dinner with Julius Nicholson, Jamie felt it was worth his while to put in the time. The PM's chief adviser gave him enough background on current action on the reshuffle that he felt he could predict what Malcolm would do and get on with it for the bulk of the work. Julius gave him the names of several potential new entrants, some of whom he'd heard of before and some not. Malcolm was in the process of vetting them from a communications standpoint when he collapsed. If Malc regained consciousness tonight, he might be able to fill Jamie in on what had been done so far.

The trickier part, of course, was the existing ministers who were flagged to move into or out of roles per the PM. Julius had strong leanings toward the well-known supporters of the PM, who tended to be more conservative. Malcolm and Jamie had not spoken much about Malcolm's leanings, but his behaviours signaled a clear bent toward a more liberal slate. The thing with Dan Miller and Ray Hartford was a case in point. Jamie had no idea what to do when it came to vetting the existing ministers and working Malcolm's agenda, whatever that might be. He really needed the ill enforcer's help.

So instead of going home, where his angry wife was probably waiting up for him, Jamie made his way back to St. Thomas's. Sam had texted him that Malcolm regained consciousness briefly and again a little later. Jamie decided to stay at the hospital on the off chance the old bastard woke up and could talk a little. Jamie knew, however, that was only part of his motive. The other part was about avoiding going home.

Things were very tense on the home front. Jamie and Beverly were working through some issues. Malcolm's collapse couldn't have happened at a worse time. Jamie's crazy work schedule was already a significant powder keg in their marriage. They'd had a gigantic row about it a few weeks back. Since then, Jamie had done his best to always be home for dinner and to put the kids to bed. He'd even told Malcolm about it, and appreciated Malcolm's attempts to help him get home on time.

He'd been trying to keep a balance, but with Malcolm out of commission and all the irons in the fire, clearly he wouldn't be able to maintain it. He'd told Bev as much when he called to let her know about Malcolm and that he would be home late again, and got a chilly response. Her parting words as she hung up on him were "Eventually you are going to have to choose between him and us. Until you've made that choice, don't bother coming home."

She didn't understand why Jamie was so dedicated to the Party and to Malcolm, why he slept with his Blackberry next to his head so he woke up any time a text came in. Jamie didn't, either. He was attracted to Malcolm's decisiveness and conviction. He always seemed to know what he thought was right and stuck to his guns. Malcolm was completely unshakeable. Jamie liked that Malcolm didn't care if people hated him; he seemed to even work hard to maintain a persona that kept people afraid of him. But Jamie knew it was all a show.

Jamie had the pleasure of being on the inside of Malcolm's world. Jamie and Malcolm had spent many late nights and long weekends in the office together, working. During those marathon sessions, a bond formed that took their relationship beyond that of employer and employee well into the realm of friendship. Malcolm and Sam had Jamie and Bev over for dinner more than once. They'd gone to shows together. When Jamie needed to vent or wanted advice, Malcolm was who he went to.

Away from Westminster and the press, Jamie found that the man behind the persona was gentle, thoughtful and caring in a non-gay manly way. Sort of like a big brother. He envied Malcolm for his conviction, his boldness, and his ability to still be kind. Jamie always struggled with confidence. At forty years of age, he still wasn't sure what he believed in. Except for one thing. He believed in Malcolm. But his dinner with Julius had raised a seed of doubt even in that.

Toward the end of the dinner, the conversation turned from details about reshuffle to Malcolm and the current unfortunate situation. "It's really too bad," Nicholson said, "Tucker is a hard-lining bastard, I will give him that. But there's always a price to pay."

"So you're saying that Malcolm had this coming?" Jamie's voice tightened with emotion.

"No, not that at all. I've been worried about him for months. He pushes himself too hard. He's so intense. Maybe if he would ease up a little he wouldn't have to crash and burn, yes?"

Seeing that Jamie's feathers were a little less ruffled, Julius resumed slicing his beef as he continued. "This leak you mentioned, though, it is a little worrisome. Do you think we'll end up with some press swirl?" His tone was casual, but Jamie sensed that same cautiousness in the adviser he'd noticed back at the office.

"Well, I think I squelched most of it because I recognised most of the reporters and knew what media they came from. I spoke to each of the editors and convinced them it was in their best interest not to give it any coverage."

"You say you recognised most of the reporters – not all, then?"

Jamie cleared his throat, "Not all, no. There were a few independents. At least one. I know her name, but don't have any contact information for her." When he saw from Julius' body language that this was far from a casual inquiry, he continued.

"I mean, there wasn't really anything to report. They got an unconfirmed tip that Malcolm collapsed. They showed up and saw the ambulance. They saw someone getting wheeled onto the ambulance, but not who. And they saw Nicola Murray climb into the ambulance to ride along. Any creditable editor would laugh at running something like that."

"But Jamie, you and I both know there's a veritable sea of less creditable media that would have no problem running with it. _The Tattler_ , for one, or the _Examiner_. Tabloids, I know, but people still read them. And then there are the bloggers."

"Julius, I don't understand why you're so concerned about this. I mean, who reads those things? Our under-educated, misinformed public. No one gives what they read in _The Tattler_ any credence at all. No one considers it a legitimate news source. If they pick up a story that asserts Malcolm was in the ambulance, so what?"

Nicholson put down his cutlery and wiped his upper lip with his napkin. Jamie detected an increased tension that caused him to stop eating, as well.

"Jamie, as the PM's chief adviser, I personally vet anyone on the executive team. I did a full background on Malcolm, and he's got a few skeletons in the closet that could cause trouble for him if they came to light."

"What kind of skeletons?"

Julius broke eye contact and laughed a nervous laugh. "I'm not going to tell you that. They're his skeletons, and his to divulge if he sees fit. Don't worry too much about it. Malcolm is a big boy; he can take care of himself. It's just that if the press started digging into his background to flesh out a personal interest story, they might end up with some things that would make Malcolm less effective in his role. Depending on how he handled it if it came out, he could lose considerable credibility with the press, and with the PM."

Jamie didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, appraising Nicholson's non-verbals. He still wasn't sure where Julius' loyalties lay, and here he was, tipping his hand, showing Jamie that he had something on Malcolm.

"Why are you looking at me that way?" Julius seemed to suddenly understand Jamie's concern.

"Oh, _no_! I'm not going to leak anything to the press. Why would I do that? I mean, I could have done that any time over the past seven or so years, couldn't I? Jamie, don't you get it? I _want_ Malcolm to continue in his role. We don't see eye to eye on political matters, and sometimes he drives me batty, but he's a vital mainstay of the Party. I leaked the Dan Miller thing because I believe Ray Hartford is the better minister for International Affairs and I see Dan possibly gathering too much power for his own good."

"So you say you would never leak something about Malcolm, but how can I trust you?"

"You need assurances?" Julius seemed somewhat hurt that Jamie didn't just trust his word.

"I do."

"Would it help you to know that Malcolm has private and potentially damaging information about me as well?"

The two men stared at each other for a tense few moments. Jamie finally decided it was enough and cracked a smile.

"Of course he does. Malcolm has dirt on everyone, no?"

Julius laughed and picked up his wine. "You're right about that, my friend."

The conversation with Julius ended well, but now Jamie had this niggling concern about Malcolm. What did he really know about the man beyond his day-to-day doings at Westminster and a handful of social occasions? What started as a small seed of doubt at dinner grew into a medium-sized baby elephant on the walk over to St. Thomas's. Was this yet another potential commode threatening to spill over?


	16. Chapter 16

Sam was at the nurse's station when Jamie hit the waiting area in ICU-2. Jamie thought she looked a little better than when he saw her earlier in the day.

"Sam, how is he?"

Malcolm's better half turned away from the nurse she was chatting with and smiled when she saw him.

"Jamie, I'm glad to see you. He hasn't woken up since the last time I texted you, but I think he's doing better. His fever is down, and he's had two breathing treatments." They walked back toward Malcolm's ICU room.

"How did it go with the press situation?" Sam asked. He could see she was still concerned about the possibility of publicity. He decided not to mention the concern Nicholson raised about Malcolm's past. The last thing Sam didn't need anything new to worry about.

"No news on that front, good or bad. I did manage to meet with Julius about reshuffle. There are some things I can pick up easily, but I'm afraid there are some things I won't be able to address until I've talked with Malcolm." He gestured to his laptop bag. "I was hoping to maybe hang out here and work, in case he wakes up and can talk a little."

Sam glanced at her watch. "It's late, Jamie. Shouldn't you be home? I could call you when he wakes up." Jamie wondered if Malcolm had mentioned anything to Sam about his difficulties at home. Reading her face, Jamie decided this was just a normal concern for a friend.

"No, I think it would be better if I'm here, as long as I won't be in the way." They reached Malcolm's room. Malcolm was much as he'd been when Jamie visited earlier, only he was wearing a cannula rather than a full mask.

"Not at all, you're welcome to stay, Jamie." Sam had a thoughtful look on her face. "Let me just see if I can wake him up. They're going to bring his meal soon, and I need to try to get at least some of it into him."

Sam bent over Malcolm and caressed his cheek. "Malc, can you wake up for me? You have a visitor."

Malcolm's eyelids twitched a little, but he didn't open his eyes.

"Malcolm, come on, Jamie's here to see you. Can you wake up for a bit?"

Malcolm opened his eyes. He locked eyes with Sam and they shared what Jamie could only describe as a romantic gaze. Jamie felt a lump form in his throat. That gruff, sweary bastard loved his wife, that's for sure. Sam smiled, looking into his eyes and holding his hand. Jamie felt he shouldn't be witnessing such an intimate moment. He turned away a little to afford them some privacy.

Malcolm coughed a bit and began to look a little more alert. Sam waved Jamie over to the bedside.

"Stand right here. He gets giddy when he has to turn his head." Sam moved further to the side so that Jamie could stand right in Malcolm's line of sight.

"So how are you feeling? You scared the living shit out of everyone, you know that?"

Malcolm chuckled weakly until the chuckle turned into a cough. Once he stopped coughing he took a few moments to catch his breath. An alarm bleeped once and then was silent. Jamie busied himself looking at the monitors above the bed. He didn't understand much of what they showed, but he wanted to give Malcolm some recovery time.

"I was with Nicola, wasn't I? But before that I was with you. Julius. Pissing into my tent." Malcolm spoke in short sentences. His voice was weak and slow, as if he was talking in his sleep.

"That's right. I gave Julius your message. How are you feeling?"

"I dunno," Malcolm said, his eyelids drooping. Sam squeezed his hand. "Tired. How was cabinet?" Malcolm started to turn his head, but Sam restrained him. The weary enforcer relaxed back against the pillow again. Jamie could see that the little energy he had was fading fast.

"Malcolm, the PM's asked me to fill in for you on reshuffle. Julius gave me a lot of information, and I think I can vet the new candidates, but I'm not sure what to do about the others."

"Sam, do you have my spare desk key?" Malcolm asked. Sam moved into his field of vision.

"Sure I do," she replied.

"Please give it to Duncan. He'll need some things from the top-left drawer. Duncan, go over there tonight and get them. There's a folder and a…a stick thing…" Malcolm's eyes drifted shut.

"You mean Jamie, right, dear?" Sam rubbed his arm.

"Yes…"

Jamie looked over to Sam, whose eyes were once again brimming with tears. She nodded toward the door. Jamie headed out into the hallway. Sam followed shortly and handed him Malcolm's desk key.

"Wow, Sam, he's really…out of it."

"I know. It's a little scary, but the doctor said he'd be disoriented for a few days from the concussion."

"Do you know anything about what I'll find in Malcolm's desk?"

"Not really. He keeps his reshuffle things in that drawer, so I never go in there. Go ahead and have a look and come back if you need to. He's bound to be more with it in the morning. If I don't see you later tonight I will text you with updates."

"Thanks, Sam, I appreciate it. And who's Duncan?" Sam looked teary again at the mention of the name.

"Maybe Malcolm will tell you some day. Take it as a compliment."

"And how are you holding up? Have you had anything to eat today?"

Sam laughed. "Not yet, no. I'll probably eat most of Malc's dinner. Otherwise, I will pop down to the cafeteria later. Malcolm's sister is coming. She needs to make arrangements for the kids first, so I'm not sure when she will get here, but probably sometime tomorrow."

"Okay, good. Try to get some rest, Sam. And let me know if I can do anything. Even in the wee hours, okay?"

That earned him a hug and a squeeze. "Thank you so much, Jamie. You're a true friend."

Jamie headed for the elevator, clasping the key to Malcolm's desk in his front pocket.

* * *

Jamie walked back to Number Ten to retrieve the folder and "stick thing" from Malcolm's desk. The streets were eerily quiet at this time of night, and more lights were off than on at Number Ten. Entering Malcolm's office felt very strange. Jamie felt a flash of guilt, as if he was sneaking into his father's private man cave to steal cigarettes.

The "stick thing" turned out to be a memory stick. Jamie pocketed it and leafed through the folder that was underneath the memory stick in the drawer on his way down the hall to his own office.

The folder held curriculum vitae on the five new potential entrants into office that Julius gave him an overview of during dinner. Jamie hoped the memory stick held something that would help with the tougher part of the puzzle, since Malcolm clearly wasn't up to the task yet.

Back in his own office, Jamie fired up his laptop and plugged in the memory stick. A single file was listed in the directory, an Excel spreadsheet entitled "Reshuffle_20XX." The spreadsheet, when opened, had several tabs. One looked like a master list of all ministers in the first column with several columns going across. Another tab labeled "PM Picks" seemed to show the PM's current thinking on departments and minister moves.

Jamie took a few minutes to get the hang of the columns and colour schemes. None of the moves he saw there surprised him. There were a few departmental modifications that weren't entirely clear to him from what was in the spreadsheet, and he made note of things he needed to circle back to Julius, Malcolm or the PM about.

The next tab in the workbook was labeled "MT's Picks." Jamie surmised that this spreadsheet showed Malcolm's personal plan for moves, which had some significant differences from the PM's picks. Some of these Jamie already knew about, like moving Dan Miller to International Affairs and Ray Hartford to the back bench. Others were news to him, but not terribly surprising. Thinking back over the year, Jamie could connect several discrete and less discrete things Malcolm had said or done that were evidence of his covert approach to influencing the structure of the Labour party and the government at large.

This spreadsheet had a column off to the right with cryptic notes. After scanning through the balance of them, Jamie determined that these were Malcolm's tactics for positioning his picks with the PM, either by highlighting obvious strengths of the candidate, or doing things to discredit the candidate the PM had in mind for that position. Or, in Dan Miller's case, a little of both. These were the things Jamie now needed to pick up and move forward with while Malcolm was out of commission. But could he accurately interpret his boss' highly codified shorthand?

Not in all cases. He quickly went through and flagged the ones he thought he understood (very few of them), and then considered the ones he wasn't sure about (most of them). Clearly he would need Malcolm's help, but at least there were a few he could address.

Another tab was labeled "Comms," and seemed to be where Malcolm kept initial drafts communication plans for each of the moves. If Malcolm was going to be out for a while, Jamie would draft the communications as the PM's decisions were finalised and then work with the rest of Malcolm's team to implement them.

The last tab in the workbook was labeled "MT's Horses." Intriguing. Clicking into it, Jamie saw a short list of names with columns going across the sheet. This seemed to be some sort of succession plan. The columns across were Current Role, Next Steps, Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats. The final column was a Notes column.

Getting the hang of the sheet, Jamie turned his attention to the name in the first row. As he expected, Dan Miller was at the top, followed by a few other junior ministers Jamie was already familiar with. Curious, he read the details in Dan's row, and they confirmed his hypothesis that this was a succession plan. The title "MT's horses" probably meant that these were Malcolm's personal and probably covert plans to get the people he wanted into specific positions over the longer term to fulfill a higher strategy. Clicking back to the MT Picks tab, Jamie saw the correlation between what was on each tab for Dan Miller. This confirmed everything Jamie believed about Malcolm as a strategic mastermind.

Jamie clicked back to the MT Horses tab. Starting with Dan, he carefully read across. What he found there was fascinating. Malcolm had obviously put a lot of thought into Dan's capabilities and areas where he needed development, with the ultimate focus of positioning him as a PM candidate in the next election. Jamie wondered if Dan knew anything about this, or if he was just marching along, doing what was in front of him, never knowing that he had a sweary fairy godfather watching out for him, positioning him for his next fucking learning opportunity.

Jamie read each row in succession. When he got to row four of five, he was shocked to be looking at his own name. His heart sped up. Beverly's voice chimed a warning in his head to not proceed further, but like finding his older sister's diary when he was twelve, there was no stopping now.

He read carefully through each column, first noting that Malcolm's vision for him was to be his direct successor after a possible run as the communications director for shadow cabinet. Jamie found himself both excited and terrified at the prospect of moving to the director role. At the same time, he felt hurt at the idea of having to be on opposite ends to Malcolm, and also sad at the idea of one day replacing him.

Did Malcolm already know about whatever was going on with his lungs? Jamie supposed it was possible the bastard knew his time might be limited and was preparing accordingly. This spreadsheet represented his coverage plan and also his legacy to the Party and to Britain, for that matter.

Reading through the SWOT analysis columns, there were some places he wasn't at all surprised at what Malcolm had written. For example, in Strengths, he wrote _Assertive. Responsive. Flexible._ Under Weaknesses, Malcolm wrote _Angrier than me. Needs to become less reactive._ Jamie agreed wholeheartedly, now thinking back to the many conversations Malcolm and he had had about situations where he went a little – or a lot – over the top. Situations like what happened with Ollie at A &E.

Under Opportunities, Malcolm wrote _Creative thinker (example: McCarron situation)_. Jamie felt a flush of pleasure that Malcolm had taken notice of the way he solved that particular cock-up. He'd never thought of himself as a creative thinker before. The Threats column was blank. When he got to the notes column he was moved to tears.

 _Work with JM on anger management. Give opportunities to develop a more strategic perspective and tap into that creativity. Find ways to help him lighten up. Too much like me for his own good._

When he finally recovered from that last cell, Jamie took a look at the last name on the list. He had to read it twice because he couldn't fucking believe it. Based on all the other entries, he was sure this was a list of people Malcolm identified as exemplars of certain skills, mindsets and values he wanted in leadership to shape and maintain the Labour party. If that was the case, what was Nicola Murray's name doing there?


	17. Chapter 17

"Geoffrey, what's up, it's five in the morning, man." Jamie loosened his tie. He was currently the only passenger on the tube headed from Number Ten to his home in the suburbs to get a change on clothes and face the music. Geoffrey's voice faded in and out with a bad connection.

"Jamie, I saw the PA announcement. Thanks for nothing."

"That's the way it goes, mate. You knew I couldn't let you run with it."

"Yes, I know. You didn't come down too hard on Reeder, did you?"

"Hey, that little wanker had it coming. Don't worry, everyone else I spoke to yesterday confirmed he was the source, so you weren't the only one."

"Whatever. Listen, I did want to give you a heads up that I'm hearing some swirl about Malcolm."

"Swirl? What kind of swirl?"

"Well, there's rumour that he has TB and may have infected a whole room of people during cabinet yesterday."

Jamie sat up.

"That's a bunch of babbling bullshit! Where did you hear that? Malcolm didn't even attend cabinet yesterday."

The editor laughed. "It's just going around. Since the PA announcement, you know. People will talk. There are some other stories, too."

"Try me." Jamie's pulse beat in his ears.

"I've also heard that Malcolm Tucker and Nicola Murray are having an affair. Murray was seen climbing into the ambulance at Number Ten yesterday."

"The fuck you say! That's slander. I need to know who you heard these things from."

"Like I said before, rumours are just going around, mate. You should have let us publish the story yesterday, Jamie. If I were you, I'd keep an eye on Twitter and the tabloids. I have a gut feeling about this one. There's going to be swirl. Have a nice day."

The little ponce rung off.

 _Fuck._

* * *

There came a moment in time when Malcolm realised he was fully awake for the first time in what felt like a long time. He was in a hospital. His head ached. His chest hurt. He was very thirsty and a little nauseous. But he was really awake.

There had been previous awakenings, at least Malcolm thought so. He had hazy memories of seeing Sam crying, and an Indian doctor who kept poking him in the chest. He might have also spoken with Jamie a time or two. There was a situation where Sam tried to get him to eat soup and he got cross with her. There was a surreal dream-like memory of a youthful-appearing person in a white coat encouraging him to breathe in a flat-tasting medicinal fog.

Perhaps some of these memories were of real events, perhaps others were dreams. But he was awake now for sure. He realised he was alone in the room just as Sam entered with a foam take-away container. She looked tired and disheveled, as if she'd been up all night. Poor angel. He suspected he'd put her through the wringer.

"Malcolm – you're awake. I mean, really awake!" She set down her take-away and was by his side in an instant, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes, I am," he whispered, "and I suspect I owe you an apology or three." It was hard to talk.

She laughed and at the same time, Malcolm saw two tears escape and roll down her cheeks. She wiped them away unselfconsciously.

"Yes, or three, but we'll get to that later. How are you feeling?"

Malcolm considered this question. His head ached, but not as bad as he recalled from earlier awakenings. He felt a little nauseous, but didn't think he was going to vomit anytime soon.

"Better, I think."

"That's good! Listen, I'm supposed to let the nurse know you're awake so she can have the doctor come by, so let's do that." Sam reached behind Malcolm's head and pressed a button. A woman's voice answered through a speaker, and Sam told the nurse to let the doctor know that Malcolm was awake.

As she leaned over him Malcolm got a good look at the circles under her eyes. Not wearing any makeup, either. "Sam, you look tired. Have you had any rest? How long has it been?" He felt immediately dizzy after speaking, and decided he needed to pace himself in conversations. He breathed through the cannula and felt better shortly.

"Oh, I caught a few cat naps. You collapsed Wednesday morning, around nine. It's just past ten on Thursday. You were awake a few times, but really out of it. Most of the time, you just slept." Sam rubbed his arm. "I called Julia, and she's on her way in. She should be here this afternoon or early evening."

Malcolm felt immediately guilty about disrupting everyone's lives. "Sam, you didna have to do that."

"Malc, you're really sick. And you hit your head. I was so scared. I felt I had to call her. Please don't worry about it. Julia was happy to come, are you kidding? Anything for her big brother."

"But-" Just then the doctor came in. Malcolm remembered seeing him before and speaking briefly.

"Well, you are looking alert this morning. Malcolm, I am Doctor Ravi. Do you remember me?"

"You're the one who poked me in the chest."

Doctor Ravi chuckled. "Yes, that was me. You weren't awake for very long, so we didn't get to talk much. How are you feeling?"

"My head doesna hurt as much. Chest hurts. Hard to breathe, but I think better than before." This time, Malcolm remembered to pause and breathe between sentences and found that his head didn't get as swimmy. He was already feeling tired again, though.

Dr. Ravi took a stethoscope out of his pocket. "Well, let me examine you and then I will fill you in on your condition, okay?" The doctor listened to his chest and then helped Malcolm to sit up so he could listen to his lungs from the back. He shined a light in each eye and primed Malcolm to follow his finger with his eyes.

Malcolm did as he was told, even though the light hurt his eyes and following the finger made him giddy. At the end of all the poking and prodding, Doctor Ravi put the stethoscope away and made a few notes on a chart. Finally, he checked the tubes and lines going up to the instrument panel and an IV stand.

"Okay, things are looking better. You still have a little bit of a fever, but it's low-grade. Your breathing is still very congested, but you seem able to maintain adequate oxygen saturation with the nasal cannula. You are more alert today, and it seems you are over the worst of the symptoms of concussion."

Sam squeezed Malcolm's hand, looking relieved. Ravi directed his next question to Sam.

"Have you told Malcolm anything about what we discussed yesterday?" Sam shook her head.

"No, he only just woke up."

"Okay, then, I will start from the beginning. So, Malcolm, I understand from Sam that you've been working very hard and then became ill with an upper respiratory infection. You were in a meeting and you basically fainted. You hit your head when you fell. When EMS arrived, you were running a high fever and were dehydrated. Your oxygen saturation was at a dangerously low level, and that's probably why you passed out. Do you remember any of that?"

 _Fainted. Christ. How embarrassing._ "No. I remember feeling ill, though, and it was hard to breathe."

"You have bi-lateral pneumonia. You are on two different kinds of antibiotics, and you've had several breathing treatments to help with your lung function. Basically, the pneumonia is running its course, and it will probably be several weeks before you're fully over it."

Malcolm's heart sped up. To his chagrin, an alarm sounded from the instrument panel above his head.

"What are you upset about?"

 _Impossible to have any privacy when you're attached to a bunch of fucking machines_ , Malcolm thought. "I can't be out that long. It's reshuffle. Lots of work to do." Sam put a comforting hand on his chest.

"Luv, you can't help this. Jamie's covering things. You can work with him. It'll be fine."

Malcolm breathed, trying to overcome his initial reaction. Sam was right, nothing much he could do about it.

"How long will I be in hospital?"

Dr. Ravi smiled. "Well, that depends on how much you focus on your recovery. Right now you are in Intensive Care. I think we can move you into a regular ward tomorrow morning if your fever doesn't go any higher, you don't show any symptoms of inter-cranial pressure from the concussion, and if you're eating well and able to keep food down. From there, once your fever is completely gone and you can maintain a safe oxygen saturation, you can go home."

"That sounds fair." Malcolm coughed for a while. In the process he set off another alarm. When he finally stopped coughing he felt giddy again. Black spots swam across his field of vision. He felt Dr. Ravi remove the cannula and place an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Again, Malcolm breathed, and soon was feeling better. Ravi studied the monitor over Malcolm's head.

"Sorry, but for now I think you should be on the mask. You are scheduled for a breathing treatment in an hour. After that, we'll try the cannula again."

Dr. Ravi watched the monitor for another few moments, finally grunted as if satisfied with what he saw there.

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes," Malcolm said from under the mask. He hated the fucking thing already.

"Good. I did want to talk to you a little about your overall lung function. I understand from Sam that you've had pretty regular bouts of pneumonia and bronchitis in the past, and have been treated for asthma."

"Yes," Malcolm confirmed. He had a funny feeling he didn't like where this was going.

"We did a specific type of scan of your lungs when you came in, and I noticed there is a lot of scarring in both lungs. As I explained to Sam, some types of scarring can come from repeated bouts of pneumonia or asthma, but the type of scarring I see in your lungs isn't consistent with either of those things."

Malcolm grunted. He definitely didn't like where this is going.

"Have you ever smoked in the past? Sam didn't think so, but I have to ask. Please be honest, it's important."

"No, never smoked because of the asthma. Not even at uni. Tried a cigar once. Bad idea." It took a while to get that out. Malcolm found he had to enunciate more to be understood from under the mask. He just wanted to pull the fucking thing off, but knew that wouldn't end well.

"Okay, then we can rule that out. Now think back. Was there ever a time in your life where you were exposed to strong chemicals or toxic substances? Ammonia or chlorine?"

Malcolm suddenly felt very giddy. His heart sped up and he felt immediately breathless, even with the mask on. Several alarms went off at once. The doctor was at his side in an instant, studying the monitors. Sam rubbed his arm again on his other side.

He heard Doctor Ravi press the call button and have an exchange with the nurse. Shortly thereafter, a nurse came in with a syringe. Shortly after the injection, Malcolm felt a bit of a head rush and suddenly felt much more relaxed. The alarms stopped. Sam continued to rub his arm soothingly. The room was silent for several minutes while he recovered.

"Malcolm, what happened there? Did you remember something?" Dr. Ravi asked. Malcolm came to a decision.

"I think I need to talk to Sam for a bit."

The doctor nodded compassionately. "Sure thing. I'm here until late tonight. Take your time. Just call me when you're ready to talk."

Sam thanked him as he made his exit. Malcolm was glad for whatever drug he was on, because this was possibly going to be the hardest conversation he'd ever had in his life.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:**

I had to split this chapter. Lots for Sam and Malcolm to talk about. More to follow later this week. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Sam prepared herself for she knew not what. Malcolm just looked at her over the oxygen mask, his face inscrutable. Sam suspected he was afraid to tell her what he was about to tell her, and didn't know where to begin.

"What is it, Luv?" She rubbed his arm soothingly.

Malcolm raised his hands weakly to the oxygen mask and tried to take it off. "Could you help me take off the mask, Sam?"

"Absolutely not! You heard what the doctor said." She grasped his hands and moved them away from the mask. Malcolm didn't try again, but looked at her compellingly.

"I can't talk to you like this. It's too hard."

"Then we'll wait until after your breathing treatment. You should probably have a nap, anyway."

"But-"

"Seriously, Malc. I can tell you're wiped out. You need your rest."

"Sam, this is important."

"Then all the better to wait until you've had a rest and a breathing treatment."

"Don't patronise me."

Sam chuckled "Now there's the pot calling the kettle black. Listen to yourself, Malc. You're behaving like an over-tired toddler. There, now I _am_ patronising you, so you really do have something to complain about." She felt victorious when Malcolm cracked half a smile. His eyes were already getting droopy. He really was tired.

"Sam, if I sleep for a while, will you get some rest, too?"

Sam smiled. "It's a deal. Now close your eyes and relax."

Two hours later, they resumed their conversation. Malcolm looked more rested and had managed about half of his lunch. He seemed pleased to be wearing the cannula instead of the mask, but still seemed rattled by whatever he remembered, and pensive about sharing it. When Sam thought she couldn't stand the silence for another second, he finally began.

"Sam, what do you know of my childhood?"

"Not much, Malc, because you don't talk about it at all." He didn't say anything, prompting her with his eyes to go on.

"Well, I know you grew up in Glasgow, and left home when you were sixteen and went to London. I know from Julia that you had a younger brother who died when he was just a toddler."

Malcolm's eye twitched at that, whether with surprise or pain at the memory Sam didn't know.

"What did Julia tell you about our parents?'

Sam paused to consider her response. She felt like she was walking through a mine field. Saying the wrong thing could end in disaster.

"That your father had a problem with drink. And he was abusive. She said he used to taunt you a lot. Make fun of you. Hide your inhaler. She never got into details, but I know he beat you a lot. She told me about what happened to Duncan and – what happened afterwards."

Malcolm broke eye contact, looking down at the sheets. Sam had never seen him look ashamed before. It looked horrible on him.

"Did you look up the coverage of the investigation? My father's trial?" When he looked up again his eyes were bloodshot and shining with unshed tears. Sam felt her own eyes tear up. It was as if she was in the room with that childhood version of Malcolm, scared and angry and ashamed, just wanting the abuse to stop.

"Yes, I did, Malc." He didn't say anything. Sam wished she knew what was going on in there.

"After what Julia told me about Duncan, I had to know more. And I couldn't come to you about it. Malcolm, I am so sorry you had to go through all of that. I can't imagine what it was like. You did your best to protect Julia and Duncan. I know you did."

A tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. He didn't try to wipe it away.

"I never could talk about it," he finally said, his voice breathless with emotion. "If I did, he would have killed me."

"Where was your mother in all of this?"

Malcolm laughed mirthlessly. "Checked out, mostly. Just oblivious. Back then, they called women like my mother 'nervous' and put them on Valium. I'm not sure about when I was very young, but most of the time when I was old enough to notice, my mother was drugged out.

"He didn't hit her, not that I know of. Or Julia for that matter. It seems it was the boys who got all of his attention. What happened to Duncan was – preventable. I could have stopped it if I'd only stepped forward. But I couldn't, and finally it was Julia who blew the whistle and by then it was too late." More tears. An alarm sounded and then was silent.

Sam glanced up at the oxygen saturation monitor above the bed. It currently said 90 percent. She'd been here long enough that she knew when it went below 90 percent the alarm would sound steadily and the nurse would be in like a shot. She rubbed his chest soothingly while he composed himself. Finally, he was ready to continue.

"When I was six years old, I was home with my dad, helping him fix the car. It was summer hols. He seemed to be in a good mood that day, working on the car, humming along to the radio, telling me to fetch different tools and things. There were times like that where he seemed almost normal. Even nice. So it was a good day and a nice time with my dad. Until suddenly he was up and out from under the hood of the car. He knocked me over and started kicking me until I lost consciousness."

Sam cringed at the thought.

"That's also how it was. His moods came and went like storms. One minute it was sunny and nice and the next there was this – tornado." Malcolm gazed out at nothing, captured by the memory. Now that he'd started talking, Sam didn't think he'd be able to stop. It was almost like he was in a trance.

"It must have been a pretty bad beating, because I woke up and it was quite a bit later. I was on the floor of the shed. My hands and feet were bound together with his belt. And there was this really strong smell of bleach. There were these huge bins and vats of cleaning agents out there from his caretaker business. There was this big circular drum with the lid off, and that's where the smell was coming from. After a while, everything felt like it was burning. My eyes. My throat. My sinuses. My chest."

Finally he met her eyes again.

"Sam, I was out there all day. I thought I was going to die. By the time he finally came out and unlocked the shed and opened the door, I _wished_ I was dead. That's how bad it hurt."

Sam couldn't keep the tears from coursing down her cheeks. Poor Malcolm. She rubbed his chest some more, just wanting to be as close to him as possible.

"He unbound me, and then just walked off. It took me a while to get out of there. I'd lost circulation in my arms and legs from being bound. I also had a lot of bruises where he kicked me. Finally, I made it into the flat. I got in the bath and tried to wash off the bleach. My skin and eyes burned for days afterwards. It was weeks before I could smell anything other than bleach. I couldn't taste anything, either. And I had this horrible chest congestion that wouldn't go away. It hurt to cough. It hurt to breathe.

"After the bath I went straight to bed. My mother got home from work and came looking for me when I didn't come to the kitchen for dinner. She was pregnant with Julia at the time, and working as a secretary at an office in town. She smelled the chlorine on me and asked if I had been playing with her cleaning supplies. She thought I'd caught a cold playing with the neighbourhood boys."

Malcolm's face registered incredulity at his mother's conclusions.

"After several weeks with the chest congestion, she took me to the doctor, who said I had asthma and gave me a puffer."

"Poor Malcolm. How could your mother be so obtuse? She must have been drugged up then, too. I can't imagine any mother being that out of touch with her child."

Malcolm started coughing and Sam automatically watched the oxygen saturation monitor. It went from a nice solid 95 to a flashing 90 in the space of a few seconds. It beeped once. Malcolm was still coughing.

 _Shit, he doesn't need to be interrupted in the middle of this,_ Sam thought. Sure enough, the meter dropped down to 88 and the alarm sounded. Malcolm cursed amidst his coughing, obviously frustrated at his inability to control his breathing.

Nurse Abbie came in just as the coughing fit was winding down. Malcolm was clearly winded, breathing like he'd just run a race. He looked tired again already, too.

"Better?" Abbie asked. Malcolm nodded. She checked his IV line and monitor leads and then left again. Sam held the water cup so Malcolm could have a drink. When he was sufficiently recovered, he continued.

"Like I said, she was just checked out. I don't even blame her anymore. She did the best she could. My father, though, him I could never forgive."

"Julia said you were always protecting her and Duncan from your father. She said you had a way of talking him out of punishments when he was in a mood."

Malcolm laughed that mirthless laugh again. "Sometimes, yes. Sometimes not."

"She said she thought you knew a secret about him and would threaten to tell to get him to back down. Was the secret what he did to you that time?"

Malcolm looked surprised.

"No, that wasna the secret. The secret came later. I saw him do something terrible. I figured out what he was. And he would do almost anything to keep that under cover.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:**

Here's a brief mid-week chapter to tide you over. This happens shortly after Malcolm and Sam's talk with Dr. Ravi Thursday morning, and before Malcolm and Sam's conversation later in the morning. Please review if you can – reviews keep this author motivated!

* * *

 _The Tattler,_ 10 November, 20XX

 _ **PM Enforcer out of commission**_ – _the sweary Typhoid Mary of Downing Street_

Marianne Swift, Metro reporter

Earlier this week, Number Ten announced that Malcolm Tucker, the Prime Minister's director of communications, was hospitalised due to illness. We have since learned through several anonymous sources that Mister Tucker collapsed while at work and was taken to St. Thomas's by ambulance. Sources say Tucker is being treated for tuberculosis. While we have not been able to confirm that diagnosis, there is speculation that Public Health England (PHE) in cooperation with National Health Services (NHS) has already or will soon issue a quarantine to all ministers who were at the cabinet meeting and may have been exposed. Tucker, known for his use colourful invective, has been dubbed 'the sweary Typhoid Mary of Downing Street.' We at _The Tattler_ wish Mister Tucker a speedy recovery.

* * *

 _Thursday, 11:00 a.m._

"Sam, sorry to bother you. Is this a bad time?"

"No, Jamie, it's fine. Malcolm was up for a bit, but he's sleeping now. What's up?"

"Well, there's been some press about Malcolm. Nothing serious. Just a write-up in _The Tattler_. I wanted to let you know about it straight away." Jamie mentally kicked himself again for not tracking down the independent reporter. He heard a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line.

"How bad is it?"

"Not too bad, and it's not on the front page." Barely. It was at the top of page two, though, with an older picture of Malcolm looking like he was in the middle of a heated argument. "It said a number of anonymous sources reported that Malcolm has TB and implied that all the cabinet ministers should be quarantined. I know it sounds bad, but it's rubbish and there are no legitimate sources. I'm surprised they printed it, even though it's _The Tattler_. If it helps, the front page has a story about how Mick Jagger is really an extraterrestrial."

"Shit. Jamie, this isn't good."

"I know, Sam. I'm sorry."

"Do you think this is the end of it? Or do you think we might see other things like this?"

"I dunno, Sam. I hope this is it, but there's no telling. The reporter is an independent. I've got a call in to the editor at _The Tattler_ , but haven't heard back yet. Believe me, I will give him a full arse-reaming for this. You could probably sue for libel."

"I'm not going to do that. The last thing Malcolm needs right now is to hear about this at all. I don't want to make this into a big court thing. I just want it to go away. Quickly."

"How's he doing?"

"Better, physically, but we've had a rough morning. He's more himself today, so that's good, but he gets tired so easily. He's still having a hard time breathing."

"And how are you holding up?" Sam took a moment to answer.

"I'm wrung out. Worried. Scared. All of that. Sorry to be such a downer, and thanks for asking. Malcolm made me promise to take a nap while he's sleeping. That will probably help."

"Well, I will let you go, then. Sam, please don't worry about this _Tattler_ thing, okay? Let me do that. You've got enough on your plate right now. I will keep an eye on the media and let you know if anything else comes out."

"Do you think you will come by later today?"

"I'd like to, if I'm not in the way. I had a look at what was in Malcolm's desk. It filled in some holes, but I still have a lot of questions that only Malcolm can answer. If he's up to it, I could really use his help. I promise not to stay too long or tire him out too much."

"Sure, Jamie. I know Malcolm would be happy to help. Late afternoon or evening is probably better."

"Sounds good. I will text you when I'm on my way."

"Thanks, Jamie, and sorry if I was cross. I'm just tired."

"I know, Sam, and don't worry about it. Get some rest now. Okay?"

"Okay, bye." Sam rung off.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:**

Here is the rest of the conversation between Malcolm and Sam. Please note that this chapter includes graphic descriptions of child abuse. There is still a lot of story to tell, so I will keep plugging along. Reviews are greatly appreciated – thanks!

* * *

 _ **Glasgow Daily**_ - _Evening Edition_

 _24 July,1967_

 **Toddler missing – search in progress**

The Maryhill Police Force launched a citywide search today for a two-year-old boy who has gone missing. Colin Clatcher, son of Brodie and Fiona Clatcher, was playing outside of his flat on Whitehall Street just north of Argyle this morning. Mrs. Clatcher was hanging clothes on the line and for a brief period Colin was out of view.

Police ask anyone with information on the whereabouts of Colin Clatcher to visit their local police office or call the confidential tip line.

* * *

After a short break when the nurse came in to change one of the IV bags, Malcolm continued.

"I started having recurring nightmares about what happened in the shed. I would wake up feeling like I couldna breathe and was sick to my stomach. I still have that same nightmare today. I know you've seen me come out of it. And there was that time I hit you."

"Malcolm, not your fault." Sam chided. All these years later, and he still hadn't forgiven himself for that night. Malcolm gave her an absent half smile, acknowledging her viewpoint, but clearly not accepting it. He returned to the story.

"A few years went by. He seemed to get meaner and more distant after that day. There were lots of beatings. My mother took me to A&E once for a broken arm. My father pushed me down a flight of stairs. She saw him do it. That's when I learned to lie about what was happening at home. She told the medic I fell out of a tree. I had to lie a lot to teachers and the sister at school over the years.

"My father would taunt me, like Julia told you. He never called me by my name. To him, my name was "Twat." As in, "Hey Twat, change the channel on tellie." Or, "Wotcha learn in school today, Twat?" Sometimes he went all broody and silent. Those were the times when I went on red alert. When he was quiet, there was usually going to be an explosion.

"And the nightmare kept coming back. After a while, I thought it was just some weird bad dream I had. I told myself nothing like that ever really happened to me. It got to where I would try as hard as I could to stay awake, because I knew if I fell asleep the nightmare would be there, waiting for me. So one day when I was eight years old, when my father wasna around, I decided to face the demon and have a look around inside the shed. I hadna been in there since the incident when I was six.

"It was an outhouse of sorts for the whole building, but Dad was the only one who used it. I'm not sure if he paid rent on the space, or if it just wasna used so he made it his own. There were some old crates and suitcases and such in the back, but the front was set up as a work area. There was a big worktable with pegboard above it holding tools. The worktable itself was tall enough that an adult could work standing up at it. The top of it came up to about chin level on me at the time.

"To the left and right of the worktable was shelving that held his cleaning supplies. There was one of those big metal mop buckets that caretakers use, along with a fold-up Wet Floor sign. There were large canisters and vats of cleaning agents. I examined the labels on those, and opened the one that said bleach. When I did the memory of that day was so strong it was like I was back there again. My eyes burned. My throat closed up. I put the lid on as fast as I could. I had my answer. It really happened.

"I forced myself to stay in the shed a little longer. I didna want to feel like the nightmare won. Like _he_ won. So I was just looking around, and I noticed an old cardboard box underneath the worktable that looked like it had magazines in it. I pulled the box out a little and saw they were pornography. Naturally, being a boy of eight, I was curious. There I was, in a place where I almost died two years before, sitting on the floor looking at my Da's porn collection. Some of the magazines at the front of the box were of women, but most of them seemed to focus on small boys. I found that very confusing.

"I must've been pretty engrossed because I didna hear him coming until it was almost too late. I knew it was him because no one else ever came out there. I scrambled under the worktable and pulled the box and a trash bin in front of me just in time."

Malcolm stopped to cough. Poor dear. His voice already sounded fatigued. After the coughing settled down, Sam offered him the water and Malcolm took it gratefully.

"He came in carrying a boy who lived in our building. The boy's name was Colin Clatcher. I knew him because he was the same age as Julia, and they had play dates together at the neighbourhood park. His mum and our mum took turns watching the bairns, so there were times when Colin was at our flat most of the day, or we were at theirs.

"Colin looked like he was sleeping in my father's arms. Da came right up to the table and I heard him set Colin on the work surface. Then there was silence for a while. Da stepped away from the table and then back again, as if he was getting some things he needed. Then he was in front of the table again and I heard sounds, so I knew he was doing something up there, but I didna know what.

Sam felt her stomach clench. She did not like where this was going.

"Suddenly, I heard Colin draw in air like he was surprised or in pain, and then came this scream the likes of which I'd never heard before and hope to never hear again. Then another. And another. My heart was beating really fast, and my pulse was throbbing in my ears. I thought I was going to die right there, I was so scared.

"My father cursed and yelled at Colin to shut up. When he didn't, I heard horrible hitting sounds, like my father was beating this kid. Maybe he shook him and Colin's head was slamming against the table. I dunno. The table shook. Stuff fell off. Colin stopped yelling pretty quickly, but my father kept hitting. Blood spattered the wall across from me.

Malcolm was emotional and breathless. Sam rubbed his cheek to get him to stop for a moment and catch his breath. He needed a shave. She made a mental note to bring his razor when she went home at some point to pick up clothes and other essentials.

"Finally, he stopped. Everything was quiet except for my father, who was making this weird panting, sobbing sound. I knew right then if he found me under the table he would kill me. I tried not to make a sound. My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it.

"I don't know how long he stood there, but it felt like forever. Gradually, he got himself under control. I heard him gather up Colin. He moved away from the table and out the door.

"I waited for at least a minute, and then crept out from under the table and peeked out the door. There was a trail of blood droplets leading up to and out of the door. Da was walking toward the strip of trees in back of our building, still carrying Colin.

"I bolted in the other direction, down the street to my school. I didna know where to go or what to do. I just knew I couldna see him straight away, or he'd know by the look on my face that I saw what he'd done. I stayed gone until dusk, and then went home and got a beating for taking off.

"After a while, it felt so unreal. Sort of like the time I was bound up in the shed and convinced myself it was just a dream. The same thing happened with Colin. I convinced myself it didna really happen. And most of the time, I believed it. You are the first person I ever told."

Sam didn't say anything right away. Malcolm looked wrung out. She offered him the water again and he drank.

"Say something, Sam."

"God, Malcolm. Jesus."

"I don't think either of them had anything to do with my father or my situation."

"And you never told. You've had all that rattling around for over forty years. How could you bear it?"

Malcolm appeared to consider the question.

"I havena thought about Colin for years. After I left home, it's almost like I forgot about it. It was good leverage against my father at the time, though. I didna realise it until I was about ten. That's the first time I used it. By then, Julia was five. I thought he was going to start beating her, like he did me. I didna know then that he really just focussed on the boys. I told him I'd seen what he did to Colin Clatcher, and if he laid one finger on Julia, I would go to the police. I told him I had written it all down and it was in a safe place outside of our flat. I was played that card a number of times over the years."

"Had you actually written it down?"

"No," Malcolm said hoarsely, "I didna dare. Among other things, though, my father wasna very bright. It took a few years for him to work out that I wasna going to go to the police."

"Why didn't you? Go to the police, that is?"

Malcolm cast his eyes down again, and again Sam saw that look of shame across his features. She regretted asking the question.

"Because I was scared. I thought they wouldna believe me. They'd go to him and tell him what I said, and then he'd kill me. Sam, I wish I had. Duncan would still be alive. Perhaps other boys, too. I'm not sure Colin was the only one. He was just the only one I knew about."

A lone tear coursed down his cheek. Sam wiped it away.

"Malcolm, you were just a kid. You were in a hard situation, and you did your best." That got him crying for real. Sam stole a glance up at the oxygen saturation monitor. Still at 91%, but likely to fall sharply. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, hoping to help him calm down. The monitor beeped once – 90%. But the jagged sobs were abating. Malcolm breathed in deeply, making an obvious effort to keep his oxygen levels up. Gradually he relaxed back against the pillow, spent.

"What do you want to do now? Do you think you could sleep?" Sam saw he'd been talking for the better part of an hour. She had so many questions based on what he had shared, but now was not the time. He must be shattered.

"No. I'm tired, but I think I'd like to have the doctor in. Tell him what he needs to know so I can get that over with."

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

Malcolm nodded. "As long as you stay with me, Sam. I canna do it alone."

"Of course I will. I love you, Malc. Thanks for telling me. I know it was hard, but now we both know, and we can get through it together. Okay?"

"I love you too, Sam." Malcolm looked very drowsy. "Now ring for the doctor before I fall asleep."

But he was asleep almost before he finished the sentence.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note:**

This is a fairly long chapter. It's been a while since we've heard from Jamie—he's back in this one. I hope you're still reading this story and enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it. Reviews are an author's muse! They're also a great way to let me know if something isn't right so I can fix it. All feedback is appreciated.

* * *

Malcolm felt relieved and anxious at the same time when he saw Doctor Ravi enter the room. He was a little irked that Sam had let him fall asleep instead of calling the doctor in after their talk. He really did want to get it over with. At the same time, he dreaded it and wished he never had to speak of it again.

"How are you feeling this afternoon, Malcolm?"

Malcolm noted that the doctor asked because he really wanted to know. From the attentive look in his eyes, Malcolm doubted this man ever asked idle questions.

"Better. Just woke up from a nap. I had another breathing treatment, and I think they're really helping." In all honesty, Malcolm didn't feel any different after the breathing treatments, but he hoped to convince Doctor Ravi and Sam that he didn't need the mask anymore and was in fact ready to move to a private room in the morning.

Doctor Ravi studied the monitors with a critical eye. Malcolm had a funny feeling he wasn't playing with a novice.

"It looks like you've had four low saturation alarms since noon today. Based on that, I'm not sure the albuterol is really helping that much."

Malcolm was crestfallen. The doctor seemed to recognise that Malcolm was disappointed and smiled warmly.

"Don't worry too much about that. You are on the right antibiotics and seem to have more energy than the last time we spoke. I think I will add another medication to your nebuliser treatment that might help with your oxygen saturation. I still think you can move out of Intensive Care tomorrow."

"What about the catheter?" Malcolm asked. He'd discovered it earlier in the day and was looking forward to getting rid of it as soon as possible. And right now, he felt more comfortable talking about his penis than he did about what happened to him when he was six.

"Is it bothering you?" Doctor Ravi moved the sheet and lifted Malcolm's gown to have a look. Sam cast her eyes away, even though it was nothing she hadn't seen before.

"Of course it's bothering me. I have a fuckin rod up my dick. Not very comfortable. What do I need to do to get rid of that?" He couldn't help letting a little of his inner bastard out. To his consternation, he heard the warning alarm from the saturation monitor. _Fuck. Can't even be properly pissed off without the whole world knowing my business._

Ravi lowered the sheet and glanced at the sat monitor. To Malcolm's relief, he didn't say anything about the alarm. Malcolm concentrated on breathing so he wouldn't end up on the mask again.

"If you're still improving tomorrow morning, we'll have it out once you are in the ward. As long as you can use a bedpan or get to the toilet, there is no need for a catheter."

Malcolm grunted. He didn't want to use a bedpan, either. He was about to press further on that point but doctor Ravi cut him off.

"I don't think this is why you paged me, Malcolm. Are you ready to tell me about what you remembered this morning?"

 _What a ball-buster. Fuck._ Malcolm felt his heart hammering and breathed in extra deeply, trying to head off any telltale alarms. That ended up getting him coughing instead. Doctor Ravi waited patiently for the coughing to subside and for Malcolm to catch his breath. Sam stood by on his right side, biting her lower lip. That was something she tended to do when she wanted to jump in and do something for him instead of letting him do it himself. What a carer she was. It was like an addiction.

"Yes. Sorry about before. Your question surprised me." Malcolm paused. When neither Ravi nor Sam jumped in to fill the silence, he continued. "There was an incident when I was six years old where I was exposed to chlorine in a way that might have contributed to what you saw on the scans."

Doctor Ravi maintained eye contact. Malcolm just wanted to crawl under the bed. Maybe if he faked falling asleep, Sam would tell Doctor Ravi for him. Malcolm belittled himself for his cowardice. Finally, he took the leap.

"My father was abusive. He bound me and locked me in a shed with an open vat of industrial strength chlorine." Malcolm glanced up at Doctor Ravi's face, but his expression was inscrutable.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Thanks for telling me about it. How long were you in there?"

"I dunno, maybe six or eight hours."

"How big was the shed?"

Malcolm coughed. "Not sure. Big enough for a fairly large work table, some shelves and some storage."

"Did you experience symptoms at the time?"

"Everything felt burned. My eyes and eyelids, my nose, my throat, my skin. My chest burned. I threw up at least once while I was in there."

"And after?"

"Pretty much more of the same. Everything felt raw. I couldn't smell or taste anything. I had a sore throat and a bad cough for weeks. It was hard to breathe. Sort of like now. My Mum took me to the doctor and he said I had asthma and gave me an inhaler."

"Did you ever get any tests for asthma?"

"No."

"Were there any other incidents where you were exposed to strong chemicals that you can recall?"

"No, just that one time."

The doctor was quiet for a few moments as he took notes. Malcolm stole a glance at Sam. Her eyes were brimming again, but she smiled at him and nodded. In that special psychic way they had developed over their marriage, Malcolm knew Sam was proud of him for talking about it. He started to get choked up himself, but pushed it down, focussing on his breathing.

Doctor Ravi capped his pen and closed the chart before making eye contact . Malc was shocked to see that Doctor Ravi also had moisture in his eyes.

"Malcolm, I'm so sorry you had to go through that when you were a child. I can't imagine what that must have been like. I'm also sorry you had to dredge that up and tell me. Have you ever seen a counsellor to get some help working through things?"

Malcolm couldn't help what his pulse and blood pressure did at that point. He heard an alarm but ignored it.

"Fuck no. That's a packet of bollocks. Why would I spend time talking to a total stranger about all that? It's in the past, and there it stays. No good can come of 'getting in touch with my inner child,' or whatever it is you call it these days. I'm fine." Sam shifted a little, obviously uncomfortable. Doctor Ravi didn't flinch at the anger or the coarse language. Malcolm's head swam. He closed his eyes and breathed through the cannula.

Doctor Ravi used the same serious, compassionate tone he'd used before. "It was just a question, and really none of my business. If you ever change your mind about that, I can give you a referral."

The doctor moved back to the light board and flipped the switch, illuminating Malcolm's scans. He studied them for a moment. Malcolm opened his eyes and had a look as well. He figured it probably was not a good thing that they were as colourful as they were.

"Based on what you told me, it sounds like you suffered an acute injury to your lungs that went untreated. That's consistent with the scar tissue we're seeing here." Doctor Ravi traced one prominent orange area on the scan.

"We'll definitely want to do pulmonary function tests as the pneumonia clears up. I might even schedule one for tomorrow to get a baseline. Your breathing hasn't improved as much as I had hoped for, and a PFT might help identify other things we can do to improve your oxygen levels.

"PFTs will tell us how functional your lungs are at this stage, but we will need to biopsy some of this scar tissue to really know what we're dealing with. We can't do that until you are completely over the pneumonia."

Malcolm cleared his throat. "How worried should I be, Doctor?" He hoped he didn't sound as scared as he felt at the moment. It didn't help that Sam looked like she was going to burst into tears again.

Ravi flipped off the light on the light board and turned back to Malcolm. "We've definitely got a situation with the scar tissue in your lungs that affects your quality of life and could possibly get worse. That is serious, and it's natural to feel concerned. At the same time, we really don't know much about it yet, and we won't know more until we beat the pneumonia. I know it's hard, but please try to focus on resting up and getting well. We'll work on this other issue down the road a bit. Now, is there anything I can do for you at the moment?"

Malcolm glanced at Sam. "No. I understand that my sister is on the way, and then I'm hoping Sam will go home and get some rest."

Doctor Ravi nodded. "Good. I hope you do go home, Sam. You can't help Malcolm if you don't take care of yourself, right?" Sam nodded, casting her eyes away. _Fucking codependent, that's what she is_ , Malcolm thought.

"I will be here until late tonight, so please have the nurse page me if you have questions or need anything. I will look in on you before I leave for the night."

"Thank you, Doctor," Sam said.

With another bob of the head, the doctor left.

* * *

 **JAMIE:** Hey, headed UR way. Now a good time?

 **SAM:** Perfect – M just had dinner. Very alert BTW.

 **JAMIE:** Gr8! B there soon.

"Saint Thomas's Hospital," Jamie told the driver as he settled into the back seat of the sleek sedan. _Nice to have the car service back and the Transpo ugliness out of the way_ , he thought.

After a busy day of reshuffle-related meetings, Jamie looked forward to seeing Malcolm and Sam and being away from Number Ten for a while.

He'd arrived home at a little after six that morning to find a copy of _The Tattler_ on his front stoop. A sticky note flagged the write-up about Malcolm. Already over-tired, finding _The Tattler_ added to his angst as he crossed the threshold, ready to catch fuck-all from Beverly for their row the prior evening and for not coming home.

She was in the kitchen with Maisie, their youngest, in her high-chair. Maisie was in the process of smearing breakfast cereal across the tray with her heavy plastic kiddie spoon. Jamie could hear Morgan in the bathroom down the hall getting ready for school.

They kept things civil until Morgan was off to the bus stop and Maisie was in her pen in the living room in front of the tellie. After that, they had a very frank and emotional conversation. To Jamie's surprise, most of the emotion was on his end.

Bev basically ripped him a new one over the same old issue of putting work ahead of her and the kids. Usually in their fights, this was where Jamie's anger got the better of him and he'd fly off the handle, but this time was different. Maybe it was because of the pressure he was under and how tired he was, or maybe it was because of what happened with Ollie and what he'd read in Malcolm's succession plan for him, but he just couldn't summon the energy to get angry.

Jamie felt like a complete failure. He'd let Bev and the kids down again, and he'd failed to keep Malcolm's collapse out of the news. Now he was going to be working with Julius and the PM on the reshuffle and he felt like the guy who brought a knife to a gunfight. It was all too much.

He basically didn't fight back. He told Bev he agreed that he was a shit husband and a shit father, and then burst into tears, which surprised both of them.

His meltdown might've been just the thing their marriage needed. After he'd calmed down, they talked about what was going on, and Bev seemed to really get how upset and worried Jamie was about Malcolm. She was more supportive than she'd ever been since Jamie had gotten into Number Ten. But she also didn't let him off the hook for not being there for her or the kids, and Jamie agreed they needed to work together to change the way things were going. He was actually the one who brought up couples counselling, and that got Bev crying with relief that he wanted to work with her on it and not just abandon the marriage.

After that cathartic conversation they had quiet make-up sex and then he showered and headed back to Westminster, drinking coffee and reading _The Tattler_ article while on the Tube.

He arrived just in time for Malcolm's standing communications team meeting. It felt strange to run the meeting in Malcolm's place. He kept waiting for someone to tell him to bugger off and let them do their jobs, but nobody did. He briefed the team about _The Tattler_ article and asked to be alerted if anyone was approached for information about Malcolm or heard of any swirl through official and unofficial channels. All was quiet on other fronts. Jamie gave out some assignments and then sent everyone off.

He used the two hours between the comms meeting and his meeting with the PM to research the potential new candidates. All five checked in clean, though one had an old arrest for drinks driving. Jamie flagged that as a minor concern, as the arrest was over 15 years ago. There was more than a little press in the intervening years demonstrating the candidate's reformation and a strong stance against alcohol and drug abuse. Jamie found the vetting process soothing and intriguing at the same time. Had Malcolm done a similar review of his CV before taking him on? Jamie was sure he had.

Jamie's meeting with Julius and the PM was long and grueling. He felt completely out of his element, and tired of saying "I'd like to defer my answer on that until I've had a chance to sift through everything." The truth of the matter was he needed to talk to Malcolm. He'd looked through everything, and there was no way he could present an opinion on Malcolm's behalf for any of the existing candidates. If he did, it was certain that things would go in a much more conservative direction than either he or Malcolm would like. Given the current political climate, Jamie was sure the Labour Party would be out of Number Ten next election if it did not embrace a more liberal slate.

That was the official reason he was headed to St. Thomas's in rush hour traffic on a Thursday evening. Unofficially, he was worried about his friend.

* * *

 **MARIANNE:**

"Hello? This is Marianne Swift."

 **SOURCE:**

"Hi there, Marianne. I just read your piece in _The Tattler_ and wanted to call and tell you I thought it was brilliant."

 **MARIANNE:**

"Which piece is that? And who are you?"

 **SOURCE:**

"The one on Malcolm Tucker. 'The Sweary Typhoid Mary of Downing Street.' I thought it was very clever. Presented a balanced view."

 **MARIANNE:**

"Who is this? Your voice sounds familiar."

 **SOURCE:**

"Consider me an anonymous source for now. I've been doing some research and happened to come across some interesting articles that might be useful if you wanted to dig a little deeper and maybe do a bigger story on Tucker."

 **MARIANNE:**

"Is this legit? Or are you having a piss?"

 **SOURCE:**

"No, this is totally legit. I swear on my mother's grave. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I am sending the articles via post to your home address. Sorry, I couldn't find a work address, so perhaps you work from home."

 **MARIANNE:**

"You're kind of freaking me out. How did you get my home address?"

 **SOURCE:**

"The Internet, baby. You really ought to Google yourself once in a while, see what comes up. Bye now!"


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:**

Thanks for the reviews! I'm getting the sense some folks aren't too comfortable with the historical side of the story, which is admittedly dark. I heard you and appreciate the feedback. Please be assured that Malcolm's history is an important part of the story, but it is not the whole story, and the worst is behind us. I hope you read on in that spirit, and I will work to keep the chapters coming.

In this chapter, Jamie's in for a visit.

* * *

When Jamie approached Malcolm's room in the ICU he found Sam with a woman who had to be Malcolm's sister talking just outside the door. The family resemblance was striking. She was tall for a woman and lithe, like Malcolm, with the same piercing blue eyes. She was a few years younger than Malcolm, judging from her appearance. Jamie knew she had two children and was a single parent.

"Jamie, you're here – great. This is Julia, Malcolm's sister. Julia just made it in from Heathrow."

Julia smiled and offered her hand, which Jamie took, captured by her gaze, which was friendly but discerning.

"So you're Jamie. Malcolm speaks of you often."

"Hopefully nothing too horrible, and not in front of the kids," Jamie joked. That got a smile out of her.

"All good, I assure you."

"Jamie, I know you have some things to discuss with Malc, so I was thinking I would take Julia home and help her get settled. She's planning on coming back later tonight."

"And hopefully you are going to get some rest, Sam, you look knackered."

Julia squeezed Sam's shoulder comfortingly. "That's' the plan. Even if I have to sedate her, she's not coming back here tonight."

Jamie noted that Sam looked like she wasn't bought into that plan, but had resigned herself to the situation.

"Good! Have a good rest, Sam, and nice to meet you Julia." Jamie hesitated before turning to go into Malcolm's room. "How's he doing? Is he awake?"

"He's awake and just had his dinner. If you could encourage him to eat a little more, that would be great. No change really since we last talked. The fever is still down, and he's alert. He still has a hard time breathing, so please try not to let him get agitated. He may fade out on you and doze off. If he does, just let him sleep."

"Thanks Sam. Julia, take your time, and come back once you've had a chance to get settled in. I can hang out here until you are back." He gave Julia his card. "Here is my contact information if anything should come up. Please don't hesitate to call if I can do anything to help." Julia accepted his card with a smile and a nod.

"Oh, Jamie, I almost forgot to mention that I got the nicest call from Beverly today. She just wanted to check up on Malc and see if she could help me with anything. It was really very sweet, and I appreciated it a lot."

Jamie felt his heart warm. "That's great, Sam, and she means it. Now go home and get some rest. Don't worry about Malcolm, okay?"

"Okay, Jamie. Thanks again, and I will talk to you in the morning." The two women headed out toward the elevators, and Jamie stepped into Malcolm's room.

The head of the bed was elevated, with a tray holding a largely untouched dinner off to the side. Malcolm's eyes were closed. Jamie crossed to the other side of the bed and set his laptop bag down as gently as possible so as not to disturb the sleeping communications director.

"Jesus, I'm not your wife, Jamie – you don't have to tiptoe around so I don't know what time you came home."

Jamie jumped, startled. The laptop bag rolled off the chair and onto the floor, nearly taking out the food tray with it.

"Fuck's sake, Malcolm, you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were asleep." Jamie saw the puckish grin under the nasal cannula. Malcolm also needed a shave. He was still pale, bruised and obviously unwell, but his eyes looked more alert and focussed than the day before.

"Well you're looking better – last time I was here you had an oxygen mask on and were pretty out of it. How are you feeling?"

Malcolm coughed a deep phlegmy cough, holding the nasal cannula in place with one hand. He answered after the coughing subsided.

"Better, I think. Don't really remember much of yesterday, but I thought I might've seen you."

"Yes, that's right. The PM asked me to cover for you while you are out, so I asked you about reshuffle."

"Oh? What did I say?" Malcolm sounded a trifle unconfident, perhaps wary that he couldn't remember a conversation about a supremely confidential subject.

"Not much, really. You were barely conscious. You told me to get the folder and memory stick from your desk and asked Sam to give me the key." Jamie gestured to his bag. "I've had a look at everything and have loads of questions for you, but I don't want to tire you out. I'll take whatever help you can give me."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow, registering surprise. "I gave you the memory stick?"

"Yes, and the CVs on the new prospects. I vetted the newbies, but I'm struggling with what to do on the other reshuffle candidates. I met with Julius and the PM today and think I was pretty useless."

Malcolm worked to sit up a little more. He still seemed very weak. Jamie finally held the pillow in position while Malcolm hoisted himself up a little further. An alarm sounded and Malcolm flinched in annoyance as he settled back into the pillow.

"Fucking thing. I canna even sit up without setting it off," Malcolm rasped. He closed his eyes and breathed for a few moments, then continued. "Oxygen saturation. If it falls too low the nurse will come in."

"And is she so ugly that you'd do anything to avoid her?" Jamie was pleased when Malcolm cracked a smile.

"No, she's a looker except for the outfit, but I am a married man." Malcolm closed his eyes and breathed again. Jamie thought he was already looking tired.

"The CVs on the new candidates. You didna pass Stevens, did you?" Jamie's stomach clenched slightly.

"Yes, I did. Why wouldn't I?"

"His stance on drugs policy. Way too conservative. Man's practically a Nazi about it."

"It didna seem too strong to me."

Malcolm coughed a little more. This time Jamie wasn't surprised when he paused to catch his breath. The alarm did not sound.

"On it's own, fine. Every minister has his hobbyhorse. But look deeper at his history. You'll see he's cautiously liberal on higher profile things, but underneath it he's barely in the Labour Party."

Jamie's stomach tightened even further. Of course Malcolm wouldn't like Stevens. Jamie had been so focussed on the process of vetting candidates that he'd overlooked how they played into the bigger picture.

"Fuck, Malc, I didn't see it – I'm sorry. I told the PM and Julius he was clean."

Malcolm looked at Jamie appraisingly, a ghost of a smile in his eyes. "And he is. Don't look so dire, Jamie, it's not like you just launched a nuclear attack on one of our allies, it's a fucking junior minister possie. Not a very important one, really. If Stevens gets in we can work to change his message or manage him out over time. I thought you said you looked at the spreadsheet."

Jamie felt both relieved and frustrated at the same time. "I have, Malcolm, and I must say your shorthand sucks. Your notes were so cryptic there were only one or two things I felt I could run with."

"You have it here?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then let's have a look."

Jamie retrieved his bag and unpacked the laptop, casting his eyes about for an electrical outlet. As he busied his hands with starting up the laptop, he asked Malcolm one of his risker questions.

"And what's up with 'MT Horses,' anyway? What the fuck kind of name is that?" There was a pregnant pause before Malcolm answered. Jamie didn't think it was because Malcolm was catching his breath.

"So you didn't know I was a gambling man."

"I knew you were a gambler, but I had no idea you were into long-shots. Nicola Murray? Seriously? Are you barmy?"

"Now that's a long story for another time. The one about you, too." Jamie blushed and couldn't meet Malcolm's gaze. Malcolm breathed for a bit.

"I am getting tired already. Doesn't take much, I'm finding. Let's start at the first tab and see how far we get."

"No worries, Malc. If you need to rest, I will hang out. Maybe chase down that cute nurse."

"What would Beverly have to say about that?"

Jamie opened up the spreadsheet to the first tab and they got started.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the delay getting this posted. Some research into the British electoral system and the history of the Labour party slowed things down a bit, but hopefully enhances the story. Thanks for the kind reviews – you inspire me and keep me motivated!

More quality time with Jamie and Malc. It's still Thursday night in Reshuffle land.

* * *

"That's right, Morgan, your birthday _is_ only seven days away. I haven't forgotten, dinna worry. Have you done your assignments for school tomorrow? Good lad! When is your book report due? Yes, I can help you with that over the weekend. What? Yes, I'm sure Malcolm will be very pleased if you make him a card. Now mind your mum tonight, and I will see you tomorrow after school, okay? Love you, son. Bye."

Jamie ended the call and stowed his phone just as he got up to the front of the queue at the cash register. He paid for his order and headed back to ICU-2 with two foam takeaway containers. Malcolm had nodded off right after they finished the second tab of the spreadsheet, so Jamie decided to pop down to the cafeteria. He hadn't had dinner yet, and Malcolm never did make any more headway on his. Jamie hoped the fish and chips would look more appealing than what was congealing on the communications director's tray earlier.

Although Malcolm dropped off less than an hour after they started, they had worked through most of Jamie's questions, and he felt immeasurably better about things. It helped that Malcolm quickly saw that Jamie thought he needed to address everything in the spreadsheet and limited his focus to the top three priorities.

"We've got to get Dan Miller into the International Affairs slot this reshuffle. That way, he'll have enough experience under his belt to lead the party by the next general election. If we don't get that done, then the rest is a non-starter. If Dan becomes PM, then we have a lot more leeway because he'll be bought into a lot of what I outlined here."

Malcolm's delivery was slow, as he had to pause and breathe frequently. At this point in the conversation, the old bastard was clearly flagging. Jamie felt guilty pressing him and had suggested they stop more than once, but Malcolm was determined to press on.

"So I understand the timing and what needs to happen with Ray and Dan, but I'm still not clear on why Nicola is a priority."

"I know it's hard to see it, but she could well be the future leader of the party."

"What are you talking about? I thought we're working Dan toward that. Plus, she's rubbish! You know it. I know it. The woman canna walk in a ceremony without a personal coach."

"That's Nicola Murray _today_. What you're not seeing is the potential. Think ten years out, Jamie. Fifteen years out. We have influence today on tomorrow's party leaders." Malcolm coughed, then closed his eyes and breathed for a few moments. "She's only just in the door. She knows nothing. Fresh clay. But look at her CV. It's in my desk. With attention and the right experiences, Murray could be another Harry Wilson."

Jamie couldn't digest it at this point. "Malcolm, I'm just not bought into Nicola Murray being anything but a back-bencher – even fifteen years from now. But I will do whatever you want me to do with her while you're out, short of sleeping with her." If he hadn't seen the MT Horses tab in the spreadsheet, Jamie would have assumed that Malcolm's focus on Murray was a product of exhaustion, illness, and a cocktail of medications.

"Just keep an eye on her. Pop in at DoSAC. Make sure Glen and Ollie aren't fucking off or setting her up for her next public embarrassment. And no live appearances until I'm back. Staple her to her fucking desk if you have to, or keep her tied up in policy meetings, but under no circumstances should the press have access to her. Understood?"

Jamie had said he understood, but he really didn't. While he had infinite trust in Malcolm's abilities as a communications director and strategist, Nicola Murray as a party leader was just too far-fetched. Jamie made a mental note to look up her CV, as Malcolm suggested, and planned a visit to DoSAC for Friday.

While his reshuffle questions were answered and Jamie felt he had what he needed to move forward, he still had a short list of riskier things to discuss with Malcolm. First, there was the unfortunate write-up in _The Tattler_. Jamie was still deliberating whether or not he should even mention it to Malcolm.

Jamie thought it unlikely that _The Tattler_ article would grow legs, but thought it was best to be prudent in light of his second topic of inquiry – the skeletons in Malcolm's closet Julius had alluded to. If there was, in fact, something in Malcolm's past that could cause trouble if it came to light, Jamie wanted to know about it. Finally, there was the discussion about why Jamie was included on the MT Horses tab of the spreadsheet, and what that meant. It was really a lot to address, and some or all of it could be put off, but Jamie still had a hinky feeling about the press attention and anything that could cause swirl.

Upon reentering the room he saw that someone had come by and removed the uneaten dinner. Malcolm was still asleep. Jamie studied him in this rare moment of repose. The communications director looked older than Jamie thought he should. When he first joined Malcolm's team two years ago from the press corps his hair was still mostly dark, and, while lean, he had a fuller frame. Now, just days past his fiftieth birthday, his hair was salt and pepper and his five o'clock shadow was coming in gray. And he was beyond lean and heading toward emaciated. Jamie fought down a powerful wave of sadness for this cryptic, brilliant man who he considered his closest friend.

He set down the takeaway containers, steeled himself, and squeezed Malcolm's bony shoulder. Malcolm startled awake, temporarily dislodging the oxygen cannula.

"Oh, you're still here. Did I drop off?"

"Sorry Malc, I didna mean to startle you. I picked up fish and chips from the cafeteria. Got to eat this stuff when it's hot." He pushed the rolling tray closer to Malcolm's bedside and opened the containers, pushing one toward Malcolm. "Are you hungry?"

Malcolm pawed around for the remote that raised the head of the bed. Jamie found it and handed it to him so he could raise it up into a more comfortable position for eating.

"Not really, but this smells better than the shite they brought me for dinner. Did you see that?" He sampled a chip.

"Aye, I did. Looked like it came out of a baby's bum. They don't have you on a special diet or anything do they?"

"Nae, I don't think so, anyway." Malcolm coughed and then sighed wearily. "I canna wait to get out of here."

"So, you're moving to a regular ward tomorrow, huh? That's good. How long do they say you'll be in here?"

"They didn't. The medic said it depends on how much I focus on getting better, or something like that." Malcolm put down the piece of fish he was working on, apparently no longer hungry. "They're running some tests tomorrow, so I may know more after that."

"What kind of tests?" Jamie had unconsciously stopped eating too, but forced himself to pick out another piece of fish.

Malcolm coughed deeply and then lay back and breathed before responding.

"Some kind of lung function test." Malcolm coughed some more. The alarm beeped once. Malcolm cast his eyes up to the monitor and tried to get his breathing back under control. When he finally did, Jamie held the water for him so he could have a drink.

"Sam mentioned there was something else going on with your lungs. Did the doctor say what he thinks it might be?"

Malcolm cast his eyes away and shrugged. "I've some scarring in my lungs. A lot, apparently. That's what we know so far. Canna really do more until the pneumonia's gone. He talked about doing a biopsy."

Jamie felt his throat tighten up. This was getting really heavy.

"Are you worried about the test tomorrow?"

Malcolm seemed to make an effort to pull himself out of the somber mood he'd fallen into.

"Nae. I'm more worried about getting this catheter out. Fucking uncomfortable. Have you ever had one?"

Jamie laughed. "Can't say I have."

"Well, I dinna recommend it. It's like being tethered to the bed by your dick. Plus, you don't even know when you're having a piss."

Malcolm coughed and looked at Jamie appraisingly.

"What?" Jamie asked.

"Jamie, don't take this wrong, but you look knackered. You should go home to Bev and the bairns. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

 _Here we go_ , Jamie thought, and took a deep breath.

"I did want to check something out with you. I met with Julius last night about reshuffle. The conversation turned to you. Julius was concerned that there might be some press swirl. I put out an official statement, but he was thinking it was possible one of the papers might want to do a human-interest story. He said there was some history that might surface in the background research that could pose a challenge if it came to light." Jamie heard a beep from the monitors.

"Has there been any press other than your statement?"

Jamie hesitated but knew now that he had to tell.

"There was one small thing in _The Tattler_ this morning. Absolute shite. Nothing but rumours, really." _Sam's going to kill me_ , he thought.

The monitor beeped again. Jamie noticed that the heart rate and oxygen numbers were flashing on the panel.

"I want to see it. Do you have it with you?"

"No, I left it at the office. I will bring it tomorrow, if you'd like. It's really nothing."

Malcolm had started coughing again. The alarm sounded again, but this time it was a continuous beeping noise. Jamie considered hitting the call button. Malcolm was still coughing, but now his eyes were closed and Jamie could see dark circles forming under them from oxygen deprivation. He knew that's what they were from watching his father's ghastly decline with emphysema. A nurse bustled in and went directly to Malcolm's side.

"Mister Tucker?" Malcolm was too busy coughing and did not respond. The nurse looked to Jamie and gestured for him to step away. She retrieved an oxygen mask from where it was clipped behind the head of the bed, removed the cannula and replaced it with the mask, then positioned it over Malcolm's nose and mouth. She then used the call button to page the nurse's station. When she got a response, she said, "Mister Tucker needs a breathing treatment now. Could you bring me albuterol and formoterol?"

Within two minutes an aide was in with the requested medications. The nurse attached a pipe-like tube to the mask and added the medications through the top of the tube. The tube filled with a white vapour. Malcolm's coughing began to settle down. The nurse stayed at Malcolm's side, watching the monitor. Malcolm appeared to be unconscious. Gradually, the oxygen saturation number began to climb. When it got to 90 percent Malcolm cracked his eyes open and looked around blearily. The nurse smiled down at him. Jamie breathed again.

"There you are. Mister Tucker, I'm giving you a breathing treatment. You had a bad coughing spell. How are you feeling now?"

"Better." Malcolm still looked out of sorts. His voice was breathless and muffled under the mask. He closed his eyes again.

The nurse turned to Jamie. He noticed that she was in fact quite attractive. "The breathing treatment takes about twenty minutes, and it makes him pretty groggy. You're welcome to stay, but just know that he'll likely sleep."

"It's fine. Thanks. I told his sister I would stick around until she gets back."

After twenty minutes, the nurse returned. She replaced the mask with the cannula, positioned it in Malcolm's nose, and then said goodnight to Jamie on her way out. Malcolm's breathing seemed noticeably better to Jamie.

"You see what I mean about the nurse."

Jamie smiled. "That I do. But like you, I am a married man."

There was silence for a few minutes. Malcolm appeared to be drifting. Jamie settled himself in the chair and considered pulling the laptop back out. He was incredibly tired. Ten o'clock, but it felt like midnight. He wondered when Julia would be back. Fortunately, Beverly knew the situation and wasn't expecting him home until late.

"It was gaol time." Jamie looked over, but Malcolm's eyes were closed.

"What?"

"The history Julius mentioned. I was just a kid, and it was only a few days. For…fighting."

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. "So that shouldn't be a problem."

Malcolm didn't answer right away, so Jamie assumed he was asleep. Just as he turned to get the laptop, Malcolm said, "I don't want it coming out. I'm not the story. Just a backroom boy."

A light snore told Jamie that this time Malcolm really was asleep. Julia returned twenty minutes later, red-eyed and thanking Jamie profusely for staying. Jamie left the hospital, took the tube home, stumbled up to the bedroom and collapsed next to Beverly in the bed, fully clothed.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note**

This is a short one. We are now in the wee hours of Thursday night/Friday morning.

* * *

Midnight in ICU. Malcolm couldn't think of a more depressing place to be at the moment. He'd awoken from a trippy dream he couldn't remember to find Julia crashed out on the other bed in the room, dead to the world and breathing with gusto through her mouth. Poor girl; she'd probably had short sleep rations making care arrangements for the kids and for time off of work and her travel. Malcolm hated that he'd put so many people out—Sam for sure, and Jamie covering for him on reshuffle, and now Julia and the kids.

He coughed phlegmily and fumbled around on the nightstand on his right for the plastic basin. Since that last breathing treatment he'd coughed up all manner of unspeakable dreck in a rainbow of colours. But he had to admit his breathing was easier. Now if only he could get through the night without another alarm, he'd be a happy man.

Malcolm was glad Jamie had come by. True to form, the dumb fuck took the weight of the world on his shoulders, thinking he needed to basically be Malcolm. Malc shuddered at the thought of Jamie getting deep into it with Julius over reshuffle. He was sure Jamie underestimated Nicholson and would get his dick handed to him on a platter if he tried to take him on. Better to hold off on the finer nuances and have Jamie focus on the big levers that were already well underway until Malcolm was back in the office.

He clenched his jaw at the thought of _The Tattler_ article. Jamie had better bring it by on Friday, or Malcolm might tear his throat out and shit down his neck. While Malcolm had leverage with most of the editors of the leading tabloids, _The Tattler_ was one where he'd failed to make inroads. Maybe Jamie was right that it was a harmless bit of fluff that wouldn't cause any ripples, but Malcolm couldn't be too careful. Too much swirl and he could lose leverage over the press and his credibility with the Party could take a serious hit. The last thing he needed was anything to lead back to the dredging up of his past.

He'd personally never read any of the press about the incident that landed him in jail at fourteen or his father's subsequent trial, though he knew there was a lot of coverage. Why read about it when he'd lived it? He remembered all of the attention and focus he'd gotten at school when he'd finally returned after his two-day jail stint and subsequent exile to his grandmother's house in Perth. It seemed as if everyone knew all about his father and the way things were at home.

The teachers all cooed at him like he was a poor waif. The women faculty couldn't seem to resist squeezing his shoulder when he passed in the hallway, rubbing his back, and, God forbid, hugging him in front of the other kids while wailing about how sorry they were for him. Some of them asked him questions, trying to get the details of everything that went on at home as the trial unfolded. Some of those questions were very intrusive, and difficult for a fourteen-year-old to understand, much less answer. As an adult now looking back, he couldn't believe how so many adults, supposedly mature and on the lookout for the welfare of their charges, would engage in salacious inquiry and gossip about such an unfortunate situation. It was like he was a celebrity.

And the kids. Jesus fucking Christ. They would not let him be. The boys his age teased him about beating up his father and going to jail. Then, as their parents watched the news during the trial, the kids would come parroting back what they'd heard about things his father had done to Malcolm and Duncan. There were some very tough situations. At fourteen, he didn't see any alternatives to fighting it out. Sometimes he won. Often he lost. But always, he fought.

It was hard enough to just tell Sam about what happened. The thought of having it known that he'd done time for nearly killing his father, or, worse, the trauma of his childhood with an abusive, alcoholic, sociopath father, was unthinkable. He couldn't even summon the bollocks to tell Julia about what happened to Colin Clatcher. Instead, he asked Sam to do that so he wouldn't have to rehash everything again. He was sure Julia would want to talk about it in the morning, but at least he didn't have to recapitulate all of that again.

Malcolm was startled out of his anxious reverie by the sound of footsteps and he looked up to see Doctor Ravi enter the room. The Indian physician was not yet aware that he had an audience, as he was looking toward the unexpected guest in the other bed. Malcolm studied him. From Ravi's facial features, he didn't seem annoyed or angry that Julia had camped out in a patient bed, but rather empathetic.

"I'll have her make the bed back up in the morning, I promise," Malcolm rasped. "It's my sister in from out of town."

Doctor Ravi directed his attention toward his patient. "Ah, yes, I'd thought as much. It's fine. We've got a light load in ICU right now, so the bed is free. How are you feeling?"

"Awake, unfortunately. Do you have any idea how boring it is in here? Not even a fucking tellie."

Ravi laughed. "So, you're definitely feeling better if you can complain about being bored. What else? How is your breathing?"

"Look in my basin. I've probably coughed up a pound of snot in the last hour. Disgusting. But I am breathing better, I think."

"We added an expectorant to your last round of meds. I'm glad to hear it's helping." Doctor Ravi studied the monitors, pressing a few buttons over Malcolm's head.

"No recent alarms. Good. I was debating holding you over for another day, but now it's clear you are improving and I think we can go ahead and move you in the morning."

Doctor Ravi pulled out a stethoscope and listened to Malcolm's lungs from the front, then directed Malcolm to sit up so he could listen from the back.

"What about that breathing test? Are we still going to do that?"

"Let's see how the move goes tomorrow. Depending on how you feel, we could do the PFT in the late morning or afternoon."

"Tell me, doctor, how fucked am I? This scarring, I mean. What's the prognosis on something like this?"

Doctor Ravi broke eye contact. "I'd rather we focus on beating the pneumonia for now. We just won't know enough about what's going on in your lungs until that's cleared up."

"The waiting is hard. I've known something was wrong for a while, Things have never been right since the incident I told you about, but these last few years it's gotten worse. I worry about Sam. I don't want to put her through a lot of drama. If it's my time to punch out, I want to go quickly, and preferably not in front of her."

"It sounds like you've put some thought into this. Have you talked to Sam about it?"

"Fuck, no. Don't want to worry her."

"How about your regular physician. Have you discussed it with him at all?"

"The truth is I hate the wanker. I only go in when I have to."

"Which would explain why you were in such a state when you arrived here."

Malcolm smiled. He thought this might be one of the rare instances where someone really "got" him.

"Maybe you should consider going to another physician."

"Would you take me on?"

"I already have. But I am a pulmonologist, not a primary care physician. Believe me, Malcolm, you're better off with a generalist for your regular care. I'm just a lung guy. I know some good ones in private practice and can give you a referral. I have one in mind who might suit you well." Doctor Ravi made a note on Malcolm's chart.

"Thanks, doctor."

"I'm about to head out for the night. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?"

Malcolm was again impressed by the man's sincere offer. Malcolm was sure that wasn't typical of most doctors.

"Other than bring me a new set of lungs, no."

"Try to get some rest. I will see you in the morning on the regular ward."

The doctor left Malcolm to his thoughts. In spite of Malcolm's feeling of wakefulness, he somehow managed to fall back to sleep in short order.


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note:**

It's been a little long between updates due to some pressing deadlines on other projects. As a reward for your patience, here is a longer chapter and a tentative promise for another one in the next few days. Happy American Thanksgiving!

* * *

Malcolm awoke with a sensation of movement. He didn't open his eyes right away. Instead, he listened to the ambient noise around him: the sound of good natured conversation, the semi-regular clacking of a sticky wheel on the trolley, and in the distance, the echo of a professional sounding page for a Doctor Warren to please come to Ward C. Good. They must be moving him out of ICU.

He cracked his eyes open and was presented with a view of someone's hand on the rail of the bed, someone else's shoulder and left ear as they turned toward the owner of the hand to say something, and a profile view of his sister, who was now awake and walking alongside his trolley. He was also aware of the lights and ceiling above him as he rolled past, and felt his stomach turn from the giddy display. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting a rerun of the past few days' very unpleasant sickness from the concussion.

"Julia, you have bed head," he said with his eyes still closed, as a way to let her know he was sentient. She grasped his hand.

"I thought you were up. If you haven't noticed yet, you're moving to your new room on the regular ward."

"Got it. Is Sam here?"

"Not yet, but it's early. Poor dear was in a state last night. Hopefully she's having a lie-in."

Malcolm grunted in agreement. They made a corner and he heard the whoosh of automatic doors opening and closing.

A strong hand wearing a lot of cologne squeezed his shoulder. "Mister Tucker, welcome to Ward C. You feeling okay?" A male voice, so not the pretty ICU nurse, then.

"I'd feel better if you got your perfumy hand away from me. Good Lord, how much of that stuff do you put on?"

The hand withdrew. A female voice laughed. Malcolm cracked an eye open to see a heavyset blonde nurse smiling impishly across at the orderly with the robust cologne. "Sorry about that – just got out of the shower."

"Don't mind him, he can be a real git when he first wakes up." Julia's dig at him defused the situation with the smelly orderly, which was probably for the best.

Once the bed was no longer moving, Malcolm opened both eyes and tipped a wink at the orderly. "My sister's right about me, you know. I'm a bit of a grump in the morning."

"No harm done, Mister Tucker. We'll just get you moved over and hooked up in here and the nurse will check your vitals and then we'll leave you be." The orderly locked the wheels on the trolley and lowered the rail on the right-hand side.

"Mister Tucker, we're going to lift you and slide you over onto the bed. Just relax and let us do the work." Malcolm really did try to relax as they moved him, but it's very difficult to relax when you feel a bunch of strange hands slide under you and lift you up.

It was over with fairly quickly, and Malcolm found himself ensconced in a new bed, under fresh sheets and a blanket, being hooked up to the monitors again. The parade of hospital staff exited, leaving Julia and Malcolm alone. Julia smiled tentatively at Malcolm, and suddenly he remembered that by now she knew two of the larger secrets he'd kept from her for over forty years.

"Will Sam know how to find us?"

Julia nodded. "I texted her so she knows to go to Ward C."

"Good." Malcolm felt time stretch out as he cast about for something to discuss that didn't involve the past so recently revealed. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like the dead. Seriously, I don't even remember coming back here from the house, that's how tired I was. You know me, I canna sleep on the plane." Julia laughed nervously. "How are you feeling?"

Malcolm was getting tired of that question, but in this case he leapt at it like a drowning man to a life preserver. "Better. Definitely better. It's a lot easier to breathe now, and the headache is finally gone." Julia's eyes darted up to above Malcolm's eye.

"That's some bruise you've got. People will think you were in a pub fight. We could start some good rumours." Malcolm felt the bruised area, suddenly curious. He knew it hurt, but hadn't thought to ask for a mirror. He asked Julia for one now, and she dug out a compact from her purse.

"Fuck's sake. How did I get this again?"

"Sam said you hit your head when you fell in the office. Something about a marble hearth?"

Malcolm studied the bruise from every angle. It really was impressive. While it hurt, it didn't feel nearly as bad as it looked.

Conversation limped along. His breakfast came, which was a nice distractor, leading Malcolm to prompt Julia to head down to the cafeteria for her own meal. Thank God. Once she was out of the room, Malcolm pushed his tray to the side and reached for the door on the nightstand, where he'd seen the orderly deposit a plastic bag of what looked like his clothes and effects. He hauled the bag onto his lap and dug through it, looking for his Blackberry. Surely Sam hadn't thought to take it?

* * *

Sam awoke gradually to the sounds of morning. She stretched lazily and rolled over, instinctively stretching out a hand to rub Malcolm's back, a routine they'd had for most of their marriage. She touched nothing but the duvet, still largely pulled up over his side of the bed. She sighed and opened her eyes. _That's right. Malc's not here – he's in hospital_. Shit. She'd hoped it was a dream.

Checking the time, she saw she'd slept twelve hours. She couldn't think of the last time she had slept that long without awakening. Her bladder reminded her that twelve hours is an awfully long time to go without visiting the loo, especially when you're nearly forty years old. Sam got herself up and into the shower, thinking through what she needed to bring to hospital. With Malcolm moving onto the regular ward, he would need clothes and some toiletries.

Before conking out at an embarrassingly early hour, Sam filled Julia in on what Malcolm shared about the incident in the shed and what he witnessed his father do to Colin Clatcher. Julia only had the vaguest of memories of Colin and his mum, and those memories were largely from a picture from her second birthday in a family album. Sam and Julia both felt that Malcolm needed to come forward and tell what he knew about Colin's death.

Julia was understandably shocked and upset about what their father had done to Malcolm when he was six, and they both had a good cry.

"That explains Malcolm's obsession with the shed. All these years, I've been wondering about that." Julia paused, clearly deep in thought, her eyebrows pulled together. Sam really noticed the resemblance to Malcolm when she did that.

"And the asthma. Not really asthma. How could Mum not have noticed how sick he was that day? If I had come home to something like that with my Lydia or Simon we would have been in A&E inside of an hour."

"I don't know," Sam consoled. "Malc said that your Mum was on medication, though she was pregnant with you when it happened, so probably not then," Sam corrected hastily.

Julia laughed a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah. _Probably not_. No wonder I'm so fucked up. She probably was popping pills then, and drinking, too. Selfish cow." Sam found herself in uncharted territory. This was more emotion than Julia had ever revealed about herself or her mother. Not wanting to cause more pain, Sam switched the subject.

"Does it surprise you to hear what your Dad did to Malcolm?"

Julie responded right away. "No. Not one bit. Like I've told you before, he had it in for Malcolm. I can't remember a time when he wasn't on him about something. What Malcolm described is pretty weird, even for our Dad, but I dinna doubt that it happened." Shortly after that, their conversation wound down and Sam tottered off to bed.

Depending on how things went with the move to the ward today and how Malcolm was feeling, they planned to at least get the conversation going about Colin Clatcher and how they both felt he needed to contact the police and share what he witnessed. Sam was sure Malcolm would have a strong reaction, and worried about what that might do to his recovery.

If it were only up to her, she would delay bringing it up until Malc was out of hospital. By then, he'd be physically more able to handle it and also in the privacy of his own home. But Julia wanted to raise it, at least initially, right away. Malcolm knew Sam and Julia were going to talk about his past. Julia felt it might seem underhanded to delay the conversation. Sam also wasn't sure how long Julia would be able to stay in London—probably not very long, with the kids waiting at home. That was probably also a factor in Julia's sense of urgency.

Sam loaded the duffel in the boot of the car and backed out of the drive, headed for Saint Thomas's. She resolved to see how Malcolm was doing this morning and put her foot down if she felt the conversation needed to wait.

* * *

When she found Malcolm's room in Ward C she was dismayed to find Malcolm sitting up in bed watching BBC News on the telly, the remote in his left hand and his Blackberry in his right. Crap. She should have looked through his things and confiscated the infernal device while he was still out of it. Julia was not in evidence. Sam sighed, put on a smile, and went to war.

"Morning, Malc, you're looking great!" She leant over and kissed his cheek. His eyes never left the television screen, but he leaned into her kiss.

"Did you hear about the NHS data loss? This is huge. Bigger than when DoSAC lost the immigration figures. What a mess." Sam gently prised the remote from Malcolm's hand and turned down the volume. He barely noticed as he coughed while reading an incoming text message on his Blackberry.

While he was still on the cannula, Sam was amazed at the improvement in his breathing. He was still hoarse and very phlegmy, but his voice was stronger. He also clearly seemed to have more energy. Which could be a problem.

"Malcolm, you're not working, are you? You're supposed to rest." Malcolm finished sending a brief reply and then grudgingly surrendered the device to Sam's outstretched hand.

"Yes, boss." She finally had his full attention. His eyes looked clear, and his colour was definitely better. She rubbed his scratchy cheek. "So, you're feeling better. Has the doctor been in yet? Where is Julia?"

"Nae, the doc hasna been by yet, and Julia's in the café for breakfast. Did you sleep well, Luv? You look better, too."

"Yes, only I missed you." Sam gestured to the duffle, which she had set down on a chair on her way in. "I brought you some things, including your razor. I bet you're looking forward to getting cleaned up and into some proper clothes."

"Yes, Ma'am." Malcolm coughed and cleared his throat. "Not as much as I'm looking forward to getting this fucking catheter out." Sam smiled and rubbed his hand. He grasped it and interlaced his fingers with hers. The silence between them spun out with the muted sounds of the television in the background.

"So, you and Julia talked last night."

"Yes. Has she said anything?"

"No, but I could tell she knew. We're going to have an uncomfortable conversation when she gets back, aren't we." Malcolm didn't make eye contact. Sam's heart went out to him.

"Not if you're not ready. It can wait. Right now it's more important that you get better."

Just then a nurse walked in rolling a tray of medical equipment, accompanied by a muscular orderly who was pushing an empty wheelchair.

"Mister Tucker, I'm Deborah, one of your nurses. How about we get that catheter out?"

Malcolm eyed the pair, a look of recognition crossing his face when he spied the orderly.

"You again. Did you wash off that perfume you were wearing before?"

The blonde nurse grinned and the orderly responded good-naturedly enough.

"It was aftershave, and yes, I did. Once Deb here pulls the catheter we'll get you out of bed and sitting in the wheelchair. If you feel up to it, I will take you to the toilet and for a shower."

Sam watched Malcolm bristle at that.

"Nae, we'll be having none of that Nancy boy stuff. I can get to the toilet on my own, and Sam here can help me in the shower."

Malcolm had a good long cough and spat into a pink plastic basin he grabbed from the nightstand. Sam noticed it took him less time to recover from the coughing fit. He really was on the mend.

"And why's a nurse doing my catheter? I thought that was a doctor thing." Sam took pity on the pair of well-intentioned carers and intervened.

"Now Malc, you're not worried about a nurse seeing your privates, are you? I know they're terribly impressive and all, but I'm your wife and I'm right here. I'm sure Deborah is a professional and will restrain herself from the overpowering urge to fondle you." Deborah laughed and shot Sam a relieved look of amusement.

"And as for—sorry, what's your name?"

"Mark," the orderly replied.

"As for Mark, here, I'm sure he is also a professional and won't fondle you, either."

"But-" Sam cut off the argument before it started.

"Malc, of course I will help you in the shower. But we don't know how much energy you'll have, and I can't catch you if you fall. Mark here can."

"So, it's a threesome for the shower, then?"

"You got it, handsome. But first, let's let Deborah do what she needs to do."

And the day began on Ward C.


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note:**

Here is a longish chapter. Malcolm is feeling better. Also a friendly reminder that I am not a medical professional, so the "doc talk" should not be taken as factual or accurate, though I did enough research to hopefully make things reasonably realistic. We'll be seeing Jamie, Nicola and others soon, but not in this chapter.

* * *

The catheter removal was quick, painless and uneventful. Malcolm focussed on Sam's eyes while it was going on. Mark the orderly produced a plastic male urinal, explained how to use it, and hung it on the end of the bed. Great. Further evidence for anyone who visited him of the state of his bladder.

"What do you think, are you ready to try moving into the wheelchair, or would you like to have a rest first?"

Malcolm felt a little badly about his earlier poor treatment of the orderly. He was probably a decent guy just trying to do his job.

"Let's have a go."

"Great." Mark removed the wires from the leads attached to Malcolm's chest. Then, he dropped the rail on the bed and moved in close on Malcolm's right-hand side. Sam moved back a little, obviously not wanting to, but also not wanting to be in the way.

"Go ahead and sit up. I'm going to support you around the back. When you 're ready, we'll get your legs over to the side." Malcolm felt Mark's arm come around his shoulders from behind and his other hand grasp his elbow as he sat up. Malcolm found Mark did most of the work as he sat fully upright and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Malcolm felt an intense rushing sensation and heard a strange high-pitched tone in his head. He gasped in a breath, hoping to not pass out. His heart pounded as he breathed and tried to find his centre of balance. Mark still had him by the forearm and shoulder.

"Let's just rest a moment. Are you giddy?" Malcolm grunted. The giddiness was leveling out, but the suddenness of it scared him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam standing by pensively, biting her lower lip. Poor dear. After all the fuss he'd made about having her help instead of Mark, suddenly he didn't want her there.

"Sam," he rasped, "Maybe you should go find Julia in the café." He closed his eyes and breathed through the cannula. The giddiness was nearly gone, but he already felt very tired.

"I'm sure Julia will be back presently, and I've already had breakfast. Sorry, buster, but you're stuck with me."

Malcolm opened his eyes and looked to Mark. "Okay, I'm feeling better. What's next?"

Mark directed Sam to bring the wheelchair closer while he continued to support Malcolm from behind. When everything was set, Mark helped Malcolm to stand and slide easily into the wheelchair. Just that small effort left Malcolm shaky and a little nauseous. He closed his eyes and breathed while Mark switched the cannula to a portable oxygen unit and arranged the IV lines. Sam came up behind the chair and rubbed the back of his neck. He pressed back into her hand, grateful for the contact.

The bathroom was attached to Malcolm's room. After the hair-raising adventure of sitting up and getting into the wheelchair, it was anticlimactic when Mark wheeled him approximately four metres to the extra-wide bathroom door. Malcolm allowed the orderly to help him stand and walk to the toilet, pulling the IV stand with attached oxygen unit in tow, but kicked him out and ordered the door shut after that. He used the toilet, breathing a sigh of relief when everything worked pretty much the way it was supposed to. Now that he'd been upright for a few minutes his head felt less swimmy and he had a little more energy.

While washing his hands, Malcolm noticed his reflection in the mirror. While he'd seen the impressive bruise and neat stitches with Julia's compact, nothing prepared him for the face that met him in the glass. It was like looking at a twin brother who had been locked up in a concentration camp.

He had lost a lot of weight. His scruffy three-day growth did nothing to cover the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw. His eyes peered out of dark hollows. _Fuck me. No wonder Sam looks so worried._ Malcolm made a mental note to do a better job at his meals for her, though he still had no appetite.

"Malc, you okay in there?"

Malcolm pulled his eyes away from the gaunt reflection staring back at him.

"Yeah. Ready for that shower now, come on in."

When Mark pulled back the curtain on the shower Malcolm's face fell. A fucking shower chair. It had come to this. There were grab rails on each surface of the shower, as well, and one of those hand-held water massagers instead of a standard showerhead. Malcolm didn't argue when Mark assisted him in removing the oxygen cannula, detaching the IV lines and covering the IV port that stayed in his forearm. He also didn't argue when the burly orderly helped him out of his gown and into the shower, but drew the line at any further assistance. Sam and Mark finally negotiated an agreement that worked for everyone. Malcolm got to shower by himself with Sam standing by to lend a hand, and Mark waited just outside the bathroom door with the wheelchair, IV pole and oxygen.

Malcolm did end up in the shower chair when the heat from the shower or perhaps the absence of canned oxygen made his head swimmy again. He let Sam help with his hair and also in rinsing him off. By the time she shut off the water and handed him a towel Malcolm was exhausted. Sam took one look at him and went to get Mark, who quickly got the cannula back on in him and placed an oxygen saturation meter on Malcolm's right index finger.

"Maybe we were a little premature in doing the shower today. How are you feeling, Mister Tucker?" Mark looked a little worried.

"Yes, okay. Thanks. Just cold. Sam, did you bring clothes?" Malcolm let Mark help dry him off while Sam got the clothes ready. It took both of them to get him dressed. Once done, it was clear to all that he had lost a lot of weight. The jeans Sam brought swam on him, and he looked swallowed up in the fleece jumper that used to fit him nicely.

"Wait, I have some pins." Julia, who had apparently been watching the production from the room, dug in her purse and out came her knitting things. She located several safety pins and went to work on the waistline of Malcolm's jeans. Meanwhile, Sam stood by with Malcolm's belt. Thankfully, it was the dress belt he had punched some new holes in a few weeks ago. While still looser than it should be and not a belt he would typically wear with jeans, between the safety pins and the belt, he could feel confident he would not lose his pants suddenly while walking around.

Not that he felt like doing much walking right now. It was with relief that he let Mark help him back into the wheelchair and then back into bed, where he fell asleep, fully clothed, within seconds of lying down.

* * *

He awoke to the murmur of unfamiliar voices and the sound of a wheeled cart rolling into the room. Malcolm immediately noted that he was still fully clothed. Someone had shaved him recently.

Nurse Deborah was back, this time with Doctor Ravi and a male technician in scrubs. The technician rolled a cart holding a laptop and some medical equipment up to the bedside.

"Good morning, Malcolm. How are you feeling?" Doctor Ravi approached, stethoscope in hand.

"Better. Got a shower today." The bell of the stethoscope was cold against Malcolm's chest. He breathed in and out when instructed, then sat up and let the doctor listen to his lungs from behind.

Doctor Ravi checked Malcolm's pulses and also studied his eyes with a penlight. Finally he straightened up and smiled.

"Yes, I think you are much improved over yesterday. How's the head?"

"Good. No headache. I can turn my head now and not get giddy."

"He did get a little giddy this morning when he first sat up, though." _Thanks, Sam_. Malcolm shot her a look. Doctor Ravi looked back at him.

"Malcolm, do you think that was related to your head injury, or just from sitting up?"

Malcolm coughed and cleared his throat. "It was more like a head rush from sitting up."

"It's probably nothing to worry about, but please do tell me if it keeps happening so we can address it."

"What's all this?" Malcolm asked, gesturing to the laptop and array of equipment on the cart.

"You're doing well enough that it's a good time to do your first pulmonary function test." The doctor picked up what looked like a mouthpiece with a tube that ended in a USB port attached to the laptop.

"This is a spirometer. It measures how much air you can move in and out of your lungs and how quickly you can do it. We use this test to diagnose lung conditions such as asthma and chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder, or COPD. In your case, we already know what's causing decreased lung function. I want to get a baseline on your airflow. This will tell me what medications should work best for you."

The doctor went on to explain the procedure, and then had the orderly assist Malcolm in moving back into the wheelchair for the test. Malcolm was pleased when he sat up and didn't get giddy. Moving to the chair was also much easier, and he was able to stand and take the single step to the chair without assistance.

The test involved wearing a nose clip, which was mildly uncomfortable. When told to do so, Malcolm breathed in through the mouthpiece and then breathed out as hard as he could. Doctor Ravi watched the laptop screen during the test, and used the mouse to click buttons between tests.

Malcolm didn't think he did very well on the first round of tests, which involved breathing into the tube three different times. Each test left him out of breath and tired. The orderly held the cannula during each test, and put it back on Malcolm between tests as he recovered. Sam held his hand, a carefully arranged positive expression on her face. Poor dear. Malcolm really wished she didn't have to be there for the tests. Julia sat a little ways away, looking on.

After the third test, Nurse Deborah handed Malcolm an inhaler and instructed him to use it. They waited fifteen minutes for the bronchodilator to take effect, and then repeated the test another three times. Malcolm hoped it might have been a little easier to breathe after using the puffer, but each test still left him breathless and tired. The orderly assisted Malcolm back onto the bed and repositioned the oxygen cannula.

"Okay, so we learned a few things from that. Malcolm, did you notice a difference after you used the inhaler?"

Malcolm considered lying, but decided that ultimately he wouldn't gain anything by doing so. "No, not really. It was maybe a little easier to breathe into the tube, but I was still just as out of breath after the test." Sam's positive veneer cracked a little. _Sorry, Luv_ , Malcolm thought, and squeezed her hand. Doctor Ravi nodded in agreement.

"That is about what I expected. The two main measurements this test captures are forced vital capacity, or FVC, and forced expiratory volume, or FEV-1. The FVC is how much air you can exhale after breathing in as deeply as you can. The FEV-1 measures how much air you can force from your lungs in one second.

"Both of your readings were consistently lower than normal, both before and after the bronchodilator. The low reading tells us that your breathing is obstructed, which we already knew. Because of the scar tissue in your lungs, you can't completely fill your lungs with air when you breathe in. You also can't fully exhale before you need to take another breath. It also takes you longer to empty your lungs due to the obstruction of airflow. The fact that the bronchodilator didn't help further confirms that this is scar tissue we're dealing with, not asthma."

"So, what's next?" Malcolm asked. It all sounded very grim at the moment. He just wanted everyone to leave the room so he could go back to sleep and not deal with it for a while. Fat chance that Sam or Julia would give him that kind of space right now, though.

Doctor Ravi opened Malcolm's chart and quickly made some notes.

"Next is to continue to focus on healing up from the pneumonia. If things continue to improve today, I will release you tomorrow and you can go home."

Malcolm blinked. "Really? I mean, great, but am I ready for that?" Sam squeezed his hand.

"Yes, I think you are. There is nothing we can do for you here that you can't have at home, and patients tend to be more comfortable and recover more quickly at home."

Sam, the practical one, had questions. "What about his breathing, though? I mean, he's been on oxygen this whole time."

"I'm thinking Malcolm should continue to use oxygen at home, as well as a nebuliser. We'll also continue the IV antibiotics for a full ten days. A technician will get you set up at home. The technician will demonstrate how to use the nebuliser and change out the oxygen canisters and IV bags. You will also get visits from a home health nurse every other day to check your IV site and do your vitals."

Doctor Ravi jotted more notes on Malcolm's chart. "We'll do a follow up back here in about a week and from there discuss next steps."

"Don't get me wrong, doctor, I'm glad to get to go home, but we just did these tests and the results sound pretty grim. It's all good to tell me to focus on getting over the pneumonia, but I've got this fucking axe hanging over my head here. No bullshit, what's next?"

The doctor capped his pen and set down the chart, giving Malcolm his full attention. "Fair enough. Once you are completely over the pneumonia we'll need to do a type of lung biopsy called a video-assisted thoracoscopy. It's a minimally invasive surgery. A surgeon will make a small incision between your ribs and insert an endoscope-a small tube with a light and a camera. We will get a good look at your lungs and collect tissue samples. We'll run tests on the samples to determine the composition of the scar tissue and also check for necrotic changes."

"Necrotic changes? Do you think there might be cancer?" Sam asked.

Doctor Ravi looked at her sympathetically. "I know it's a scary word. Right now, all we know is that there is scar tissue. Sometimes scar tissue can become necrotic, meaning lung cancer. I can't even give you a percentage of cases where that happens. There are lots of variables, and each case is different. People who smoke have a much greater chance of developing cancer, so the fact that Malcolm never smoked is in our favour."

"What's the best-case scenario from there?" Malcolm asked.

"Again, it's hard to say. We just won't know enough until after the biopsy. Based on what we know so far, I'd say the best outcome would be that the scarring does not get any worse, and we get you on the right combination of medications to maximise your airflow. Rehab can help to reduce the occurrences of additional bouts of pneumonia and bronchitis."

"Thank you, doctor, that helps. Is there anything else you can tell us at this point?"

"Well, I can tell you that you have made remarkable progress so far, considering how sick you were when you came in. If you continue to focus on getting better, it can only help." The doctor paused briefly before switching tacks.

"One thing I would like you to focus on is gaining back some weight. Being at home, instead of hospital, where we serve hospital food, should help. I would like to see you put on at least a stone before we do the biopsy. I will outline a food plan as part of your discharge summary. This is one of those rare situations where I get to tell a patient they can eat whatever they want. How is your appetite?"

Malcolm considered a lie but ended up telling the truth. "Not so good, really. I just haven't been hungry. Up until today, I was feeling nauseous. Today that's gone, at least."

Doctor Ravi made another note in Malcolm's chart. "With the concussion and also the antibiotics you're on, that's not too surprising. Let's see how it goes today. Please try to eat, even if you're not hungry, and ring for the nurse if the nausea returns and we'll put you on an anti-emetic. Tomorrow, if you still have no appetite I will prescribe something to help with that."

As if on cue, Malcolm's lunch arrived. Doctor Ravi followed his previous pattern and asked if there was anything else he could do before making an exit. Malcolm was alone with Sam and Julia and his lunch tray, which did not look very attractive.

"Well, that was cheery," he said.


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note:**

Nicola has resurfaced. Malcolm continues to mend. More visitors to follow in the next chapter. In the meantime, reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

 **MALCOLM:** We need to talk about the Pathfinder thing. I'm in Ward C.

 **NICOLA:** Can't it wait until you're back? Or should we work with Jamie?

Of course the bastard didn't respond, so at 14:00 on Friday, Nicola found herself getting out of a car from the service at St. Thomas's. She'd been torn between wanting to come for a visit to check in on the ill enforcer and dreading seeing him after everything that had happened. Malcolm's text gave her an excuse to visit. She'd heard from Jamie that Malcolm was moving out of ICU this morning, so he must be on the mend.

Jamie was waiting for Nicola in her office Friday morning, much like Malcolm often did. Nicola startled when she walked in and saw him there. The younger Scot always made Nicola nervous because she never knew what he was going to say or do next. Known for his unpredictable behaviour and mercurial temper, Nicola often found herself walking on eggshells with Jamie even more so than she did with Malcolm. At least with Malcolm she knew him well enough that she could predict his reactions to things.

The executive assistant to the director of communications was apparently keeping tabs on her while Malcolm was out. Nicola reminded herself not to assume the most negative possible intent from Malcolm about this heavy-handed shepherding. She'd thought more about her revelation on Wednesday that Malcolm was actually working in her favour, not against her.

Looking back over the past six months, Nicola had revisited several points where she felt Malcolm was bullying her and now saw that what she took as bullying was actually his own bizarre brand of coaching. While Tucker's approach was considerably more acidic than anything she'd ever experienced, Nicola couldn't argue that she'd changed for the better as a result. For one thing, she'd grown a much thicker skin, or, as Malcolm would probably put it, her own set of "lady bollocks."

Right before she left the office for St. Thomas's Nicola got the email from Number Ten advising all ministers to cancel any travel plans and be in the office all day Monday. This was Nicola's first reshuffle, having come into office during the last one. Glen had done his best to fill her in on the protocol. What he'd managed to do instead was get her all spun up about it. Her entire team seemed convinced that she was on her way out, and she was inclined to agree with them.

Since her first day as minister of Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship, she'd stumbled from one political catastrophe to another. The last six months had been a complete omnishambles, to quote one of the many Tuckerisms she'd gleaned along the way.

Nicola also saw more clearly that Malcolm wasn't the true enemy, her team was. The way things were currently going they'd have her out of office by year-end even if she did survive this reshuffle. Glen, Terri and Ollie's efforts were more about face-saving and blame shifting than moving her initiatives forward. They did more to make Nicola look bad than anything else. She had also come to the conclusion that Oliver Reeder was worthless and had to go. These were all things she wanted to talk over with Malcolm at some point and see if he could help her devise a plan to either fix her team or replace them. That is, if she was still in office after the reshuffle.

And her personal life was not just an omnishambles, it was a _publicly viewed_ omnishambles. Ella was currently one step away from expulsion from her new comprehensive school due to bullying another student. James was under scrutiny at work due to press attention over the PFI contract as a potential conflict of interest for Nicola, and as of Monday, the inconsiderate bastard had taken a flat in the city with his girlfriend, who Nicola had upon good report from an old community theatre friend, was not much older than Ella. Okay, not just an omnishambles, but also a cluster fuck. That was Nicola's life, currently. All the more reason to try and have a real go at her ministerial aspirations and make something of her life.

When she arrived on Ward C she asked and got directions to Malcolm's room. The ward was well lit and the hallways bustled with a mixture of visitors and hospital staff. When Nicola turned in to Malcolm's room she heard the sound of conversation and a television turned to the BBC News Hour.

Malcolm sat in one of two chairs by the window, facing Sam in the other. Another woman stood behind Malcolm, talking on her mobile. From the family resemblance, Nicola guessed this was a sister.

Malcolm was pale and gaunt, but seemed alert. He wore a nasal cannula. The tubing was draped behind his ears and descended to an oxygen canister that was attached to an IV pole. Tubes from two IV bags merged into one larger tube that led down from the top of the pole to Malcolm's arm and disappeared up the sleeve of his jumper. Nicola felt her throat close up and her eyes well with emotion. While he looked immeasurably better than the last time she'd seen him, He still looked quite ill and somehow vulnerable. The casual clothes only added to that sense of vulnerability. She breathed in deeply, pushing the tears away and fastened a smile on her face before the trio noticed her.

"Good, Nicola, you're here. I was just about to have a walk. Come join me." He suppressed a cough and then grasped the IV pole, preparing to rise. Sam stood first and supported him as he rose.

"Are you sure, Luv? You only just got back from one. You shouldn't rush things, you know."

"No, the Doc said I should be up and about, and I feel good. It's okay, Sam." Malcolm turned to Nicola, piercing her with his steely gaze. Some things apparently hadn't changed. "Nicola and I have things to discuss." _Oh fuck. What now?_ Nicola thought.

To Nicola, Sam said, "See that he doesn't overdo it. Just down the hall and back." Nicola nodded.

She smiled tentatively and fell into step beside the enforcer. His pace was slow. He hung onto the IV pole with his right hand and moved a little tentatively as if unsure of his legs. Nicola was tempted to grasp his arm to provide support but worried that he might slap her hand.

He didn't speak right away. Nicola waited. His expression registered annoyance, and he finally said " _Well?_ How did the apology go?" Nicola let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding.

"Oh, that? It went fine. Great, really. I guess I got all worked up about nothing. Dovydas accepted the renewal extension. George was very accommodating, working us in, as well." Malcolm did not respond. Nicola surmised they were heading toward a bench on the other side of the hallway. They finally reached it and Malcolm sat.

He looked paler than when she first arrived. Dark circles stood out under his eyes. She now realised that his lack of response was more about lack of oxygen than lack of interest. She cast her eyes around the hallway, looking for a nurse or doctor.

"I'm fine, Nicola. Just new to this walking thing. They only let me out of bed this morning."

Nicola finally sat beside him, still worried, but taking what he said at face value.

"I have to catch my breath for a bit. Talk to me. What else is going on?"

That was really all it took. Nicola spilled her guts about her reshuffle fears and concerns about her team. He listened attentively and asked questions from time to time. When she got to the bit about Ollie being a waste of space he stopped her.

"Let's talk about Ollie, then. What's he doing that has you convinced he's got to go?" Malcolm coughed. Nicola waited until the coughing subsided and Malcolm appeared to have recovered.

"He's just working his own agenda. He's off on his own a lot, and I usually have to go looking for him to actually get his attention. He doesn't have very many good ideas to contribute to my initiatives, and that's what I need him for. He was inconsistent before, but since Wednesday it's like he's gone completely off the reservation. I don't know where his head is, but it sure as hell isn't in DoSAC."

"What happened Wednesday that you think caused that?" Nicola stared back at Malcolm, nonplussed.

"Well, the bollocking you gave him, for one thing." Malcolm blinked. "You don't remember, do you?"

"There have been so many bollockings, it's hard to keep track. Refresh my memory."

"About the Pathfinders thing. You had us all over to Number Ten to rehearse the apology. You were pressing him to do his job when you…" Nicola decided not to finish that sentence. "I'm not sure if that's what caused a change in him or something that happened later. I think something's gone on between him and Jamie."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, Jamie was in my office this morning when I got there. We were talking, and I saw Ollie headed toward us, but when he saw Jamie was there he did a full 180 and disappeared. Later on, he asked about what Jamie was doing there, and what he and I talked about. He seemed overly interested. I even commented on it at the time."

Malcolm had a thoughtful expression on his face. "Interesting. Keep an eye on that, and if you learn of anything, let me know."

The pale enforcer grasped the IV stand and rose from the bench. Nicola stood, as well.

"That's it?" She asked, somewhat frustrated.

"What's it?"

"That's all you're going to say? About reshuffle? My backstabbing team? About Ollie? Just watch him? But what's the plan? How do I address it?" Malcolm looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a ghost of a smile lingering around his mouth.

"Sounds like you've got some tough conversations ahead of you. Better strap on those lady bollocks."

Nicola spied Sam in the doorway of Malcolm's room, scanning the hallway with a look of concern and annoyance. "I think Sam has a few choice words for you. You weren't supposed to be gone this long, were you? You worried her sick, you know. Scared the hell out of me, too." She was surprised to feel a warm hand reach around her back and grasp her arm.

"Thanks for going in the ambulance with me. You didna have to do that." The hand withdrew. Nicola felt her face flush and tears well up in her eyes again.

"It's about time. I was about to call the nurse. Where have you been?" Sam studied Malcolm's face searchingly. _How could I have not realised they were married?_ Nicola mused. She said her goodbyes and left, feeling much lighter, all in all, but somewhat vexed that Malcolm didn't give her any answers. Tough conversations, indeed.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note:**

More visitors for Malcolm. It's Friday afternoon in reshuffle land.

* * *

 **MALCOLM:** When are u coming? Ward C. Bring papers.

 **JAMIE:** Meeting with PM next. Wait ur turn.

 **MALCOLM:** Cheeky bastard. When is that?

 **JAMIE:** When I'm done here. Keep ur shirt on.

 **MALCOLM:** Not wearing one.

 **JAMIE:** TMI. TTFN.

Jamie pressed Send on the email going out to existing ministers advising them to be in the office on Monday and packed his laptop bag. He included a decent stack of back issues of the top three newspapers, plus the issue of _The Tattler_ with the write-up on Malcolm. After the monster days he'd put in this week, he had no problem with an early Friday.

There had been no further press about Malcolm, thank God, other than the retraction from _The Tattler_ about the insinuation that Malcolm had TB. The brief text exchange with Malcolm earlier led Jamie to believe the enforcer was well on the mend and ready to catch up on everything he'd missed since Wednesday morning.

Jamie had heard from Sam that Malcolm was in a private room and had already had a shower and first brief walk of the hallway. He wondered if they'd done the tests Malcolm alluded to, and, if, so, what the news was. The tone of Sam's text didn't give anything away.

Arriving at Malcolm's room on Ward C, Jamie discovered he already had a visitor.

"Absolutely not."

"But Malcolm, think of how it will look if the PM doesn't visit."

"I don't give a fuck how it looks. I won't be part of the latest public opinion campaign. We've met, right, Julius? No fuckin PM visit. That's out of the question. I'm going home tomorrow, anyway. There isna enough time to arrange security and all that."

"Very well, but expect a large floral arrangement from Number Ten. And be sure to have it in your lap when they wheel you out to the exit when you're released so the cameras can see that the PM cares about you."

"There will be no cameras when I'm released, Julius. They wouldna dare."

The bald ponce grinned and waved at Jamie on his way out.

Jamie noticed a new addition to Malcolm's bedside.

"Is that your evil twin?" Malcolm, who was fully dressed and sitting on the bed, picked up the sock monkey.

"Looks more like Julius. Look at that bald head. He sent it to watch over me."

"Or something. Man's sweet on you, you know."

"Sam will have a run for her money."

"Anyway, I've got something better." Jamie dug in his laptop bag and came up with the stack of papers with a handmade card from Morgan and Maisie on top. The work was really all Morgan's, with help from Beverly, with Maisie's handprint in finger paint on the back.

"Look at that. How sweet." Malcolm studied the card, a bemused expression lingering. "Now that was nice of you to include your handprint, Jamie. Nice touch." The enforcer propped up the card on the nightstand next to the resident sock monkey and moved on to the papers. He pawed through until he found _The Tattler_ buried in the bottom of the stack. He pulled it out and was just turning to the marked page when Sam entered the room.

"What's all this?" Sam's tone was sharp as she looked at the stack of papers and over to Jamie. He avoided her gaze.

"No. He's not to read these, Jamie McDonald. You take these back where you got them. He's supposed to rest." She gathered the papers and extended them to Jamie forcefully, but he didn't take them. Malcolm still had _The Tattler_ , and had found the write-up by Marianne. Sam tried to take it away, but Malcolm turned his back, still reading. It was a short article, so it didn't take long. He turned back and surrendered the paper to his irked wife.

"That's all? That wasna too terrible. The quarantine part was rather nice. Did anything come of it?" Jamie's shoulders relaxed.

"Nothing but the retraction I made them print the next day. It's been quiet since then."

"Really, Sam, what's the harm in the papers, Luv? I've been watching the news all day. Already caught up on the world."

"That's not the point." Sam turned away, searching for a bin. Locating one by the door, she took the bundle of papers and tossed them in definitively.

Malcolm coughed and quirked an amused eyebrow. "Then what _is_ the point?"

"You're not to work. You need to rest. If you dig into those papers you'll become engrossed and before I know it you'll have your mobile out of my purse and be setting up more meetings."

 _More meetings?_ Jamie wondered who else had been by, other than Julius.

Jamie watched the interplay between Malcolm and his wife. Why was it that when he and Beverly had a disagreement, they skipped right past the bickering stage and landed in a knockdown drag-out mud slinging fight? With Sam and Malcolm, it was clear there was anger, but also love. He made a mental note to ask Malcolm about that some day. The sweary Malcolm Tucker's advice to the lovelorn. Maybe after he retired from politics he could have a column.

Malcolm tipped a wink in Jamie's direction, then smiled winningly at Sam. "Sorry boss, I slipped up. Won't happen again." Sam came over and gave him a kiss.

"Yeah, right. Won't happen again _today_ , you mean." His arms encircled her waist and he pulled her in for another kiss.

"How uncomfortable do you think this is making Jamie feel?" He asked her quietly, but loud enough that Jamie was sure to hear. Sam laughed and glanced at Jamie, who was blushing a little.

"A lot, I think." She stepped back. "I'm going to give you two some time. This is a _test_ of whether or not I can trust you. And that goes for you too, Jamie."

"Yes, Ma'am," Jamie replied, not sure how seriously he should take it.

She gathered up her purse, and then walked back over to the bin and dug out the papers, apparently deciding that they were perhaps one temptation too many. "You can have these back tomorrow once you're home, and you will only have them for limited periods of time. That is my compromise. I will bring back something nice for dinner in about two hours. Do you think you can behave that long?"

"We'll try, Luv. See you in a bit." Malcolm watched Sam leave, his eyes following her beyond where he could actually see her anymore. The silence spun out.

"I think I've gotten on her nerves a bit today."

"Been pushing the envelope, have we?"

Malcolm grasped the IV pole and rose from the bed. Jamie had to say it was good to see him upright after three days of seeing him flat on his back.

"Perhaps. Let's get out of here. I need a change of scenery." Jamie followed Malcolm out the door.

"What happened to trying to behave for two hours?"

"This is behaving. I'm supposed to walk. Doctor said so." Jamie noticed that Malcolm was already out of breath, and they'd barely made it five metres down the hallway. He was also moving at a snail's pace.

"Not breaking any land speed records today, that's for sure. Seriously, if you fall, Sam will probably castrate me. This is a bad idea. Let's go back."

"Fuck's sake, have you no faith in me? We're just going to the lounge at the end of the hallway."

By the time they made the lounge, Malcolm was pale, sweaty, completely winded and in dire need of a rest. Jamie grasped an elbow and assisted as he plopped down in one of the chairs near the tellie, which was set on the same BBC news broadcast that was on in Malcolm's room. The cantankerous patient leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes and breathed. He didn't move for long enough that Jamie thought he might have passed out. An elderly couple seated nearby looked on appraisingly. Jamie stood to get the attention of a passing nurse when Malcolm opened his eyes again and sat up.

"Pushed it a bit far, maybe," He said, still breathless. He wiped sweat from his brow. "No harm done. We'll have a rest and then head back."

"What the _fuck_ are you trying to accomplish here, Malcolm? Seriously, I just about shat my pants. Are you alright?" Malcolm finally registered how worried Jamie was.

"Sorry, Jamie. I'm going home tomorrow. I need to make sure I can get around okay. You've seen our house. Remember all those stairs? Julia leaves Sunday morning, and I want to make it as easy on Sam as possible. She's been through enough. She shouldna have to nursemaid me." This was delivered slowly, with pauses to breathe between sentences.

"Well, it won't be very easy on her if you fuckin _expire_ right here because you had to go and over-do it. You're making me an accomplice to your own demise. Thanks for that."

They didn't talk for a while. Malcolm recovered his breathing. Jamie calmed down.

"Look, maybe I over-reacted, Malc, but you didn't see how bad you looked on the trolley on the way to the ambulance. I thought you were fucking _dying_. Sam probably did, too." Jamie felt badly when he saw the look of remorse on Malcolm's face.

"I can help out when you're home. I'll be coming by a lot to check in with you anyway as things get moving with reshuffle. I still don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and next week the rubber meets the road."

Malcolm watched the television screen, where a reporter stood in front of Number Ten. The banner at the bottom of the screen said _Travel ban in advance of reshuffle_. "Did the notice go out today?"

"Aye, it did. Sent it myself. Got all the reshuffle comms drafted and through to the PM, too."

"What about Dan Miller?"

"I wrote two versions of the blurb about Dan. Only sent one to the PM. He'll see the other when he changes his mind about Ray Hartford." Malcolm sighed resignedly.

"So Hartford's still in for International Affairs, then."

"By an arsehair. But let's see what happens after the news."

"What news?" Malcolm brightened. "Wait, it's Friday. What time was his thing?" Jamie made a show of studying his watch.

"Festivities should be kicking off—right about now. A fiver says it'll be on the ten o'clock news."

"You're on, and let's hope you're right."

The nurse Jamie had seen passing in the hallway when he thought Malcolm was done for approached them, pushing a wheelchair.

"There you are, Mister Tucker. Ranging a bit far, are we? Time to head back for a breathing treatment."

Malcolm moved over to the wheelchair. Jamie walked alongside as they headed back to the room. The elderly couple turned their attention back to BBC now that the show was over.

Back in the room, someone had delivered a large floral arrangement. "Look, Malcolm, your boyfriend sent you flowers," Jamie jibed, removing the card. The aroma brought back the memory of his father's wake.

"From the PM. Isn't that nice?" He said to the nurse, who was helping Malcolm back into bed. She got the breathing treatment going and left the room. Much like the last time, Malcolm relaxed back, eyes closed, breathing the vapour through the mask. Jamie grabbed the remote and turned up the sound on the tellie, which was currently showing sports coverage.

"What's going on with you and Ollie?" Jamie twitched and dropped the remote with a clatter. He scooped it up and turned off the television. The only sound was the rattle of a cart out in the hallway.

"Nothing, really. I had to talk to the bawbag. He was being a twat." He didn't make eye contact with Malcolm, hoping that answer was enough. The enforcer's keen nose for bullshit did not seem to be impaired by the breathing treatment, though. He raised his head, pointedly looking at Jamie until Jamie finally caved.

"Ollie leaked the story about you to the press. Top three. Told them you'd collapsed in a meeting and that an ambulance was on the way. When they wheeled you out the press pack was waiting. Don't worry—I had them cover your face. I had to twist a lot of arms to keep it out of the news, and _The Tattler_ story still made it through."

"Ollie. Of course."

"I saw him when I came here to see you and gave him a proper bollocking. Even made him call his girlfriend, who he'd also told. I think I scared him enough that he'll never try that again."

"Or he'll do it again as soon as he gets another chance. Have you ever heard of reverse psychology?"

Jamie didn't have anything to say to that. At the time, it was all he could do not to pound the skinny cunt right into the pavement. He hadn't exactly thought it through.

"We've got to work on your temper, Jamie. It really gets in your way." Malcolm's words had slowed a bit and his eyes looked glassy. Jamie remembered that the ICU nurse said the treatment made him groggy.

"There's the pot calling the kettle black." Malcolm didn't say anything, so Jamie went on. "I…I know it does, and I want to change. I just get so angry sometimes I canna think."

"I know. We're a lot alike. We'll talk more about it. Sleepy now." Malcolm drifted off, his head rolling to the side.


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the delay in posting. Just wrapped up a project and have a nice window of downtime over the holidays to devote to this story. Malcolm is headed home.

* * *

Malcolm approached the door of St. Thomas's hospital in a wheelchair piloted by none other than Mark the orderly. The gaudy floral arrangement from the PM was in Malcolm's lap. Sam, Julia and Jamie formed a protective phalanx around him as they neared the exit. Jamie went ahead and checked to confirm there were no cameramen or reporters present, and then signaled for the car from the service to roll up to the curb.

Overall, it was an uneventful departure. Sam still felt anxious, doing her own unconscious search for media as they pulled away from the hospital and headed toward home. Malcolm looked better this morning than the night before, dressed in the new corduroys, button-down shirt and jumper Sam purchased so that he had at least one thing he could wear that fit. Julia volunteered to help with alterations on his work clothes, and promised to just do simple basting that Sam could easily take out as Malcolm gained weight. That was one of several Saturday priorities, along with the postponed conversation about Colin Clatcher. Julia had a Sunday morning flight home.

Sam held a large package from the hospital chemist with Malcolm's medications and a sheaf of discharge instructions from Doctor Ravi on her lap. Even with the medical technician and home health nurse meeting them at the house this afternoon, Sam worried about making sure Malcolm followed the directions and took all of the medications as directed.

"I suspect you have been operating with insufficient oxygen saturation for quite some time," Doctor Ravi opined during their final meeting with him. "I would like you to continue using the oxygen for the rest of today and all night tonight. Tomorrow, you may begin going without the oxygen for short periods of time.

"When the technician comes to set up the equipment, he will step you through how to do this. Wear the oxygen saturation monitor at all times when not wearing the cannula. If your saturation level falls below ninety percent, you need to go back on oxygen. Stay on the oxygen for at least an hour, and then if your sat is back at 90 percent or above, you can take off the oxygen again. The goal is to gradually wean you off of the oxygen assistance, though I want you to continue to use it at night." Malcolm grunted. Sam knew he was frustrated about having to continue the oxygen.

"What about the breathing treatments?" Sam asked.

"The technician will bring a nebuliser and demonstrate how to use it. There are two medications, albuterol and formoterol. These are the same medications we've been using. They come in pre-measured phials, so it isn't hard to do the treatment at home. You will do two treatments a day, spaced approximately twelve hours apart. If you experience heavy congestion, you may do one additional treatment. If things don't improve after that, please come in as soon as possible, as there may be something else going on." Doctor Ravi turned to the next page in the thick packet of discharge instructions, which were turned toward Malcolm and Sam. Malcolm did not read them, and probably wasn't listening very closely, Sam surmised. He knew that she would.

"And then there are the IV antibiotics. This is your fourth day of a ten-day course. We'll leave the IV port in your arm, and the home nurse will demonstrate how to change out the bags and take care of the port. You will need to cover the IV port when showering. Please don't do anything strenuous that could cause the port to dislodge from your arm. If anything like that happens or if there is any bleeding around the entry site, call or come in right away. No heavy lifting, for obvious reasons."

"Please call this number to schedule your follow-up appointment for the day after your last dose of antibiotics. We'll remove your IV port and take some blood samples, and also do another pulmonary function test at that time. If everything looks good, we'll do your biopsy the following week.

"Please do not drive until after your follow-up appointment. It would be difficult to manage with the oxygen and the IV." Sam knew this wasn't an issue. Malcolm rarely drove, relying on her to get to work and the car service to get around town as needed.

"What about work? When can I go back?" Malcolm asked.

"I know you have a lot going on at work. I would like you to stay out of the office until I see you at your follow-up appointment. That's to minimize the risk of exposure to any viruses or opportunistic infections. Either of those things will delay your biopsy. If there is work you can do from home, that is okay on a part-time basis, as you feel able, but don't push it." Sam couldn't help giving Malcolm a pointed look at that. She would see to it that he didn't over-do it. He looked suitably contrite. Sam knew he felt badly about worrying her. Doctor Ravi turned to the final page of the discharge instructions.

"Now, let's talk about diet." Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"When you came in on Wednesday, you weighed 65 kilograms, or eight and a half stone. While here, you lost five kilograms. Ideal weight for a man of your height, build and age is seventy to eighty-five kilograms. As I mentioned yesterday, we need to get your weight up to at least 65 kilograms before the biopsy. I'd like you to try to get at least 2,500 calories a day. Some nutritious higher calorie options are full-fat dairy, whole grain breads and pastas. Try to get two servings of protein from meat a day, and five fruits and vegetables. Even with all of that, I would recommend picking up a higher calorie nutritional shake, such as one of these three brands. Some taste better than others. Most of my patients like chocolate flavoured ones the best. If you refrigerate it first and then put it in a blender, it tastes like a chocolate frappe." Sam doubted they were all that tasty. From Malcolm's facial expression, she knew the shakes would be a hard sell.

"This page lists things that could happen that would warrant coming back to A&E. Keep an eye out for increased congestion, difficulty breathing, dizziness or nausea. If you experience any of those things, come in immediately. If your oxygen saturation goes below 90 and you can't get it up to ninety with oxygen and a nebuliser treatment, come in immediately.

"You shouldn't have any side effects from the medications, as these are all the same ones you've been on while here. If you experience any of the side effects listed on the medication packaging, call or come in."

Jamie and Julia returned from the cafeteria just as the doctor closed the discharge instructions. Doctor Ravi wrapped up and asked Sam and Malcolm if they had any questions. Sam was sure she'd have some later when she had a chance to read through everything again, but right now was suffering from information overload.

Sam accepted the packet of instructions, noting with a touch of humour that the doctor knew she was more likely to actually use them.

"Thanks, Doctor Ravi, you've been great. We'll call if anything comes up."

"Right, doc. Thanks for everything." Malcolm and Sam both shook the pulmonologist's hand and the entourage headed toward the elevator and the car from the service waiting at the curb.

Julia was in the passenger seat with the floral arrangement balanced on her lap. Jamie, Sam and Malcolm fit a little snugly in the back seat. Jamie kept up a light patter of polite conversation with Julia, focussing on her children, who were a good bit older than his. Malcolm clasped Sam's hand the whole way home. He didn't say much. Sam suspected he was glad to be out of hospital, and perhaps anxious about the impending difficult conversation with Julia.


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note:**

I hope everyone had a happy holiday season. New chapter up with another coming in the next few days. Malcolm is back home and headed for a long-awaited tough conversation. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Sam finished making up the bed in the spare bedroom on the ground floor. His Eminence was currently asleep on the sofa, the Thursday edition of _The Guardian_ still loosely clasped in one hand. Sam resisted the urge to check his oxygen saturation again. She had already checked it twice in the last hour and both times it was fine. She knew she was being ridiculous. The technician had demonstrated how the alarm would sound if Malcolm was wearing the sat monitor on his finger and his levels dropped below ninety percent. Sam had also checked to make sure the monitor was properly attached to his finger, and earned a grumpy swat from her ornery patient.

They'd already had their first minor row right after the nurse and technician left. Sam returned from seeing them off at the front door to find Malcolm slowly climbing the stairs to their bedroom, towing the IV stand with oxygen behind him. Julia followed in his wake, trying to talk him out of it.

Sam had already explained to him that she was setting up the spare bedroom on the first floor so he wouldn't have to manage the stairs. The nurse confirmed that Malcolm should not climb stairs if he didn't have to. The risk of pulling out the IV was enough to warrant accommodations, not to mention the exertion involved and what it would do to his oxygen levels. When she made it clear she would be staying with him in the downstairs bedroom he finally settled down. It was sweet, really; he must have missed sleeping with her as much as she missed sleeping with him.

Julia had gone to the market for groceries. Sam appreciated Julia's attempt to give them some alone time. The morning had been full of activity and people. Unbeknownst to Sam, while Jamie was with them at the hospital to ensure Malcolm had a press-free departure from St. Thomas's, Beverly was at their house fixing a welcome home brunch. Sam thought it was incredibly thoughtful and sweet. At the same time, Malcolm was already very tired just from the trip home and still didn't have much of an appetite. He managed a decent serving of quiche, though Sam knew he did it for her and to show his appreciation to the younger couple for the effort. After brunch, Jamie seemed to sense that Malcolm was at his limit and hastened to help Beverly tidy the kitchen and head out.

From there, Malcolm moved to the sofa and began wading through back issues of the newspapers. Sam was surprised he made it through all of the Wednesday papers and halfway through the Thursday ones before he fell asleep.

Sam brewed coffee and fixed up a tray with two cups, the carafe and cream and sugar. Malcolm didn't waken when she set the tray on the coffee table and gently sat next to him on the sofa. She watched him for a moment, smiling at his mussed hair. The bruising on his face was finally fading. She ghosted her hand over it, tracing the ridge of his brow. Malcolm stirred a little and turned his head away from her, which only gave her better access to drop a kiss on his cheek, just under the bruised area. He sighed. She rubbed his neck.

"Malcolm, I made coffee. Would you like a cup?"

"Uh," he replied, still groggy from sleep. He came back to wakefulness gradually, shifting on the sofa and finally sitting up. She fixed his cup the way he liked it and handed it to him when he was ready.

"Have a nice nap?"

"Yes. What time is it?"

"Noon."

"Already? Later than I thought." He coughed into his hand and had a sip of coffee. "This is great. Thanks, Luv."

"First coffee since Wednesday. It's a new record." Malcolm smiled. Sam flattened his hair down where it was sticking up from the way he slept.

"Where's Julia?"

"At the market. She should be home soon."

"What time is her flight tomorrow?"

"Eleven, so we'll need to leave here at around eight."

"That early?"

"Julia said she likes to get there early, just to be safe."

"Do you think she'll mind if I don't come along?"

"She's your sister. You tell me." Sam knew he was thinking about the hassle of managing the oxygen and IV on a long car trip. She didn't want to tell him that Julia and she had assumed he would stay at the house.

"It'll be fine, but I will ask when she gets back." Sam smiled and kissed him on the cheek. He pulled her in for a deeper kiss. Things began heating up and Sam had to force herself to pull away.

"Your oxygen levels."

"Fuck the oxygen levels." Malc tried to pull her back, but she resisted. Finally he released her, sighing resignedly.

"It's going to be a long week or so. When do I go back to see the doctor?"

"This coming Friday. Do you think you can manage?"

"We'll have to figure something out. I canna go that long. Maybe if you're on top-"

"Don't even think about it. It'll only make things worse."

Just then Julia pulled into the driveway. Sam went out to help with the bags. Together they put away the groceries in the kitchen while Malcolm resumed his perusal of the newspapers. Sam whispered quietly to Julia, "Are you ready?" Julia nodded.

Together they reentered the living room. Julia sat across from Malcolm in the recliner. Sam reclaimed her spot next to him on the sofa. Malcolm looked at them over the edge of the newspaper. He sighed, folded the paper and set it down on the coffee table. "So, it's time to talk."

"Yes." Julia said. "I wanted to discuss it sooner, but there was too much going on at the hospital. It seemed better to wait until you were back home." Sam clasped Malcolm's hand. He gave her hand a squeeze of appreciation.

"So, Sam told you about what happened in the shed." Julia did not respond. She merely looked at Malcolm, waiting for him to continue. Sam knew Julia had a lot of conflicting feelings about what Sam had shared with her.

"Were you surprised? How much did you already know?"

The anger in Julia's voice was palpable. "You could have told me. My God, you had to live with that stuff all alone. I wish you had let me in. What were you trying to protect me from? He was an arsehole to me, but he never touched me. I always knew it was bad for you and Duncan, but I had no idea."

"There wasna anything you could've done. It wouldna have made your life any better to know about it."

"But Malcolm, you wouldna have been alone."

"You weren't even born, Julia. And nothing like that ever happened again."

"Holy shit, Malc, he nearly _killed_ you. Your life hasna been the same since. And now all these problems with your lungs." Julia wiped a tear away. "It isna fair that no one was there for you."

"Maybe that time in the shed with the bleach was the worst, but I saw plenty of other things. There was that one time when we broke the lamp. He sent you to the garage and then made me clean up the broken glass. I followed him down to the garage and spied through the crack in the door."

"You didn't." Sam thought Malcolm didn't mean he didn't believe Julia spied on them; he just didn't want to believe she saw that.

"He made you take off your shirt and undershirt. He hit you with his belt until you were bleeding. Then, he went inside when it was time for Ma to be home. You stayed out there for a long time. When you came back to the flat you went straight to our room and didna come down for dinner. You never said anything about it, but I know you were in a lot of pain. You couldn't play with the other boys the next day because your back hurt. You stayed home with Duncan and me instead. Duncan wanted to go play outside but I made you both stay in and watch Telly all day because I knew you were hurting."

"You fixed me tea. I remember that time. None of us liked tea yet, but you fixed me tea."

"I thought it was something people drank when they felt off." Malcolm smiled a little at that.

"You took good care of me that day, Julia. Thank you."

"I could've done more if you'd let me in. He took you out to the garage a lot, Malcolm." Malcolm flinched a little at that, perhaps embarrassed that his younger sister knew more about the abuse than he realised. It was a while before he picked up the conversation again.

"Did you ever go in that shed?" Julia shook her head.

"Never even occurred to me. You were too scared of it. I saw you at the window, watching the shed when he was out there at night. Why did you do that?"

Malcolm didn't answer right away. His eyes had a distant look, the same look they had when he told Sam about the shed and about Colin. His hand was cold in hers. She rubbed it a little to remind him she was there and he wasn't alone.

"That would've been after what happened to Colin. I watched the shed to keep track of where he was, and also to watch him come and go. To see if he ever brought another boy there. For a long time I thought what happened to Colin was just a dream. Sometimes I'm still not sure."

Julia leaned forward. "Malcolm, it really happened. It had to. I remember Ma telling the story from time to time over the years about the nice couple whose son disappeared. She showed me the picture of Colin and Mrs. Clatcher at my second birthday loads of times. After Sam told me about it I went online to see what I could find out. I Googled cold cases in Glasgow. From what I saw on Wikipedia, Colin is one of a half dozen boys who went missing in 1967 and were never found."

Sam's stomach dropped. The room was silent except for the sound of the pendulum clock on the wall. Malcolm looked pale. Sam had to resist the urge to check his saturation level.

"A half dozen."

"Go ahead and check it yourself. Just type 'cold case children glasgow 1967' in the browser. There's a website with a whole database of kids who have been killed or gone missing from 1955 to the present day. Colin Clatcher is listed, along with his picture."

"You want me to come forward. You both do." Sam's eyes swam with tears when she saw that same look of shame she'd seen at the hospital when they talked about Colin and Duncan.

Julia nodded. "Yes, Malcolm. _Yes_. This is about his parents. They deserve to know what happened to their son. And if any of those other boys-"

Malcolm removed his hand from Sam's and stood abruptly. Sam steadied the IV stand, which wobbled a little with the sudden movement.

"No. I willna do it. Not going to happen."

"But Malc-"

"You think it will help them? To dredge all this up now? It's been forty fucking years, Julia. They've had forty years to grieve, make their peace and move on. Now you want to just rip open those wounds so they can feel it all over again?" The sat monitor beeped.

"Malcolm, calm down. Come here and sit." Malcolm did not come back to the sofa, but he did pause and breathe through the cannula, obviously trying hard to maintain his levels. Sam saw the number on the monitor change from 88% to 89 and then 90% before Malcolm spoke.

"They're probably both dead, anyway, or living in a home for dementia patients, pissing their pants and meeting each other for the first time every day."

"Malcolm, what about those other boys? What if he killed them?"

"Well, he's not gonna kill any more of them, is he? We're done talking about this. I'm sorry I ever said anything." Malcolm headed for the guest room, pulling the IV stand at his side, and shut the door.

"That could have gone better." Sam commented.

"But about what I expected."

"Let's give it some time. It's a lot to ask."

Later, Sam approached the closed bedroom door, listening for any signs of movement. It was quiet. She gently opened the door and entered. Malcolm lay on his side on the bed, facing the wall. Sam noticed that the IV bag needed changing.

She sat next to him on the bed and rubbed his back. His eyes were open, but he didn't say anything. She lay down and spooned against him, hugging him.

"You think I should do it."

"What I think isn't important. It's your choice."

"But you think I should." Sam sighed.

"Yes, I do. But I know it means you've got to revisit things you'd rather not."

"Sam, I'm a public figure."

"Maybe you could do it anonymously." Malcolm shook his head.

"There is no way it would stay anonymous. I have pull, but not that much pull. No, it would get out."

Sam didn't say anything. She held him a while longer, then gave him a squeeze and a peck on the cheek and rose to switch out his IV bag. When she left the room to start dinner he had his eyes closed, but she knew he still wasn't sleeping.


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Note:**

It's Sunday morning at chez Tucker.

* * *

 _The Guardian,_ 13 November, 20X5

 _ **Can Hartford**_ _**Kiss and Make Up with Israel?–**_ _International Affairs minister's attempt to repair relations after another unfortunate slip of the tongue_

Marianne Swift, Metro reporter

 _The Daily Mail,_ 13 November, 20X5

 _ **Dan Miller Speaks His MIND –**_ _Minister's long relationship with the National Association for Mental Health_

Angela Heaney, Junior political correspondent

"I'm glad to hear you've reconsidered International Affairs. Nae, I agree. You've given him a lot of leeway but he's just not up to it, Boss. Who are you considering for it? Dan Miller. That's great. You know my position." Malcolm covered the phone and turned his head to cough, then resumed the call.

"Sorry about that, Boss. Yes, I'm on the mend. Would you like me to pass the International Affairs switch on to Jamie? No, No trouble. He will draft the comms and get it over to you today. Right. Yes, he is, isn't he? I will. Thanks, Boss. And thanks for the flowers, that was nice. Later."

Malcolm disconnected with the PM and then fired off a quick text to Jamie giving the go-ahead to send the Dan Miller communications to the PM for review. It was down to the wire with reshuffle tomorrow, but things were definitely looking up thanks to Hartford's train wreck of a speech at the Doctors Without Borders black tie fundraiser. The twat had gone beyond the few sound bites Malcolm added to the speech and launched into a bizarre off-the-cuff rhetoric about the ethics of England's relationship with Israel. _The man hung himself_ , Malcolm thought, absolving himself of any modicum of guilt about the situation.

He checked his oxygen saturation number, wrote it down along with the time in the log provided by the technician, and then removed the cannula and placed it on the kitchen table along with the oxygen canister. This was his third go without the oxygen. The first time, he made it fifteen minutes before his sat fell below ninety percent. The second time, he made it seventeen minutes before the alarm went off, and he was sure he could have gone longer, but that was when he was reading the news about Hartford. The laughter probably had something to do with it.

Sam was driving Julia to Heathrow. As soon as they left Malcolm started on his covert project of baking homemade bread. He wanted it to be ready to go with soup and salad for a late lunch when Sam got home, and it had to rise twice. It was finally ready for the oven, so he was happy to be oxygen-free to manage that without worrying about volatile gas near a heat source. He was still getting used to the logistics of keeping the sat monitor on his index finger and toting around the IV stand as he moved about. While it was a pain the arse, he definitely preferred the hassle to the alternative of still being in hospital.

The doorbell rang just as Malc popped the bread in. _Probably Jamie_ , he thought as he trundled the IV stand along with him to the foyer. He opened the door to find a familiar looking woman on his doorstep. She was in her mid-thirties, medium build, long blonde hair, and clutching a rather thick manila envelope to her chest. Malcolm had an extraordinary gift for recalling names and faces, but it took a moment to remember her.

"Marianne Swift. What brings you here?" Marianne eyed him appraisingly. _Well, I do look a little less than my best_ , Malcolm thought, recalling the impressive bruise that was fading, but still noticeable.

"I heard you were home from hospital and wanted to come by and see how you're doing. Can I come in?" Malcolm hesitated.

"This isn't a press call. Better not be."

Marianne broke eye contact and smiled. "No press call. Strictly personal." Malcolm opened the door and let the journalist in. He led her into the living room and waved at the sofa while heading back to the kitchen, rolling the IV stand alongside.

"Would you like coffee?"

"No thanks, I can't stay. How are you feeling?"

Malcolm joined her in the living room with a coffee for himself. She stood by the mantle, studying the array of pictures hanging on the wall.

"Better, thanks. I liked the write-up in _The Tattler_ , by the way. Nice touch of suspense around the quarantine idea. Very creative." Marianne didn't respond. "If this isn't a press call and you say it's personal, but you can't stay, maybe you'd better tell me why you're here."

Malcolm sat on the sofa. Marianne stood behind the recliner, gripping the headrest lightly, a curious expression on her face. Malcolm couldn't place it, but surmised she was perhaps nervous.

"That was Geoffrey's idea. It was really for Jamie. He tweaked Geoffrey's balls pretty hard after the ambulance thing at Number Ten. You heard about that, didn't you?"

"I heard someone leaked that an ambulance was at Number Ten and Jamie did some damage control."

"Well, no harm meant. I understand _The Tattler_ published a retraction next day. Seriously, Malcolm, we knew it wouldn't go anywhere; it was just a one-off to get back at Jamie."

"So, what's Geoffrey to you? You're an independent. Why would you do that for him? Are you his latest shag?" Marianne blushed a little but didn't reply. "You are, aren't you? Well, congratulations. Nice catch. Good stock." Malcolm coughed. He felt a little giddy and glanced at the sat monitor. It showed ninety percent, but he was pretty sure the alarm would go off shortly if he didn't put the cannula back on. He didn't want to do that in front of the journalist. Instead, he slid the clip off of his finger and pressed the OFF switch on the sat monitor.

"We're in a relationship. I work at _The Guardian_ now."

"How nice. Marianne, why are you here? Surely not to tell me about your sex life?"

Marianne placed the manila envelope on the coffee table in front of Malcolm.

"This belongs to you. It was sent to me last week anonymously. I also got a call from the person who sent it. They wanted me to do a human-interest story on you. I'm not going to do the story, but I wanted to let you know there's someone out there who wants to create some swirl. When he figures out I'm not going to use what he sent, he'll find someone else who will." Malcolm said nothing. Marianne moved toward the door.

"You're welcome, Malcolm. I hope you have a speedy recovery." Before he could find his voice to respond, she was gone.


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note:**

Here is a chapter to ring in the New Year. More chapters are in the works. Reviews keep this author motivated. Wishing you the best in 2016!

* * *

 **SAM:** Are you behaving?

 **SAM:** Leaving airport now. Home by 13:30.

Sam pulled into the driveway and parked the car, glad to be off the road and home from the airport. While traffic wasn't bad, what started as a light drizzle as they headed toward Heathrow turned into a heavy downpour on the way back. Hopefully Julia's flight wouldn't be cancelled.

Sam had texted Malc from Heathrow, but with the weather she was focussed on her driving and hadn't listened for an alert from her mobile. She hoped he hadn't over-done it. She couldn't help but notice the impish expression on his face when she kissed him goodbye in the morning, as if he couldn't wait for them to take off so he could get to work on a secret project.

"Malc, I'm back," she called as she entered the foyer, setting her keys on the table. "Did you miss me?" No answer. He was probably napping. That's when Sam smelled something burning. "Malc, whatever you've got in the oven needs to come out."

In the kitchen, she quickly turned off the oven, got on the mitts and pulled out what looked like a very well done loaf of bread. Tendrils of smoke rose from the pan as she set it down on the range. She opened the kitchen window in hopes that the smoke alarm would not go off.

"Malc?" Still no answer. As she turned to leave the kitchen she saw the oxygen canister and logbook on the table. She poked her head in the guest bedroom but he was not there. Now she was starting to worry. Had he gone off somewhere and left the oxygen behind? Unlikely.

She found him on the sofa, slumped over in an awkward position. She probably would have found him sooner if the IV stand hadn't tipped over. Sam's heart seized.

"Malc?" She shook his shoulder, but didn't get a response. His skin was clammy. There were dark half-moons under his eyes and his lips had a bluish cast. She felt for a pulse and thankfully found it right away. Sam shot a quick prayer to whatever Supreme Being might be paying attention and shook his shoulder harder, calling his name in a louder voice. His face twitched, but he didn't wake up.

Sam righted the IV stand and saw the pulse oximeter was powered off. She turned it back on and attached the clip to Malcolm's index finger. It seemed to take years for the reading to display, and when it did, the news was not good. 63%. _Shit. How long has he been like this?_

Sam raced back to the kitchen and scooped up the oxygen canister and attached tubing and cannula. Back at Malcolm's side, she got the cannula on him as quickly as she could and turned the dial on the canister up to 100%. She sat on the edge of the sofa and rubbed his neck, watching his face for signs of returning consciousness and glancing frequently at the monitor. His saturation percent started climbing right away. When the monitor showed 80% he moved a little, as if in a dream. Sam shook his shoulder again, and this time he opened his eyes.

"Sam, you're back," Malcolm smiled sleepily at her. Sam hit him on the shoulder. Hard.

He sat up, now fully awake and rubbing the spot where she hit him. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"You shit! You bastard! What were you thinking?" Sam burst into tears. Now that she knew he was okay, the shock set in. Her body started trembling and she couldn't seem to stop sobbing. Malcolm hugged her, rubbing her back until the storm abated. He released her and handed her his handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes and nose, her breath still hitching.

"Sam, I—what did I do?"

"I came home and found you unconscious on the couch. The oxygen was in the kitchen, and you turned off the sat monitor. You had bread in the oven and it burnt to a crisp. You could have died."

"Oh," was all Malcolm said, as if recalling the sequence of events that led up to this point. Sam got a grip on herself. It took a herculean effort to set emotion aside so she could get to the facts. She breathed for a few moments to calm herself and forced herself to wait until his saturation was at 90% before she said anything else.

"Walk me through what happened."

"I was baking bread. When it was time to put it in the oven I took off the oxygen. I set the canister on the kitchen table because it would've been too close to the oven on the IV stand. The doorbell rang right then, and I went to answer it." Something changed in his eyes.

"Who was it?"

"Marianne Swift."

"Who?" Sam had never heard the name.

"She's a journalist. She had something for me. I let her in and we talked briefly. We were just wrapping up when I started feeling giddy. I didn't want the alarm to go off in front of her, so I turned it off. She left. I should have gotten the oxygen then but instead I opened the envelope." Malcolm looked toward the coffee table, his expression turned inward. Sam followed his gaze and saw a messy collection of what looked like photocopies of newspapers spread out across the table.

"I was reading the articles. I must've passed out. Sam, I'm sorry." Sam was surprised to see a tear roll down his cheek. She brushed it away.

"Hey, what's this? We're okay. You're okay. I'm not mad, Malc, just—you scared me." She clasped his hand. Malcolm did not respond. Sam was getting worried again.

"What is it, Malcolm? What did she say? What are these articles?"

But then Sam really looked at the articles and she knew what they were.

* * *

Jamie got the call from Sam mid-afternoon while he was with Morgan at the library. He could tell from the tension in her voice that something wasn't right.

"How is Malcolm?" He asked, immediately worried that he'd had a turn for the worse.

"Can you come by? There is a situation involving the press. It's rather urgent."

"I've got Morgan with me. We're at the library. Bev's at a baby shower with Maisie. Is it okay if I bring Morgan with me?"

"Sure, that's fine. He won't be scared by the medical equipment, will he?"

"He knows uncle Malc's been in hospital. I will explain on the way so he knows what to expect. He'll be fine."

Sam greeted them at the door. Malcolm was in the living room, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt and jumper. He was still very pale. The bruising on his face was fading. Malcolm greeted Morgan and thanked him for the card. Jamie noticed he seemed distant, and less animated than he usually was with the kids. Perhaps he was just tired. Morgan shyly approached, eyeing Malcolm's bruise and also the IV stand and oxygen.

"Da said you've been ill, but you're getting better."

"That I am, Morgan. Your Da and Mum have been very helpful. I couldn't have gotten through it without them, you know."

"That's a big bruise. Does it hurt?" Malcolm smiled.

"Hardly at all. Looks worse than it is."

Sam shepherded Morgan into the kitchen, where she invited him to help her make biscuits. Jamie sat in the recliner across from his boss.

"You're looking better. How are you feeling?"

"A little better each day. Glad to be home. Julia left this morning. It was great to have her, but I'm also glad she's headed home. One mother hen is enough." Jamie thought Malcolm's breathing sounded much better.

"Sam said something's come up with the press." Malcolm's eyes moved to a manila envelope on the coffee table.

"Aye. Something like that." Malcolm coughed.

"I had a visit from Marianne Swift. It seems an anonymous informant sent her some information about me. Wanted her to do a write up to get some swirl going."

"And she came to you, rather than going ahead."

"Scruples, I know. Rare in the press corps. Did you know she's at _The Guardian_ now?"

"No, I didn't know that. But what about the write-up in _The Tattler_?"

"It was a shot at you from Geoffrey. They're an item now, apparently."

"So what kind of information did she have from the informant?" Malcolm glanced at the envelope again.

"Some old news articles from the seventies. You asked me what dirt Julius had on me and I told you I'd been in jail for fighting."

"Do you think that bald wanker leaked it to Marianne?" Malcolm waved a hand with a look of impatience.

"Of course not. Nicholson is smarter than that. If he wanted to have a go at me it would be much more subtle." The pendulum on the clock ticked. Rain pattered against the window. Jamie heard Sam telling Morgan a silly story in the kitchen. Morgan laughed.

"I didn't tell you everything when we talked. There's more to the story. Now there's a fair chance it all might come out. Jamie, I need your help."

"Anything. What do you need me to do?" The look of appreciation in Malcolm's eyes was palpable. The communications director leaned forward and pushed the envelope toward Jamie with one slender hand.

"Take this home. Sam made copies of all of the articles for you. Read through everything tonight. Then, I'd like to arrange a meeting for tomorrow. I know it's reshuffle, but I don't think it can wait."

They firmed up plans for Monday, and then Jamie collected Morgan and they left with a plate of biscuits and the manila envelope.


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note:**

I spotted an obvious Americanism while reviewing the story. In chapter one, I originally had Malcolm beating his father with a baseball bat. After a good hard laugh, I did some research and replaced the unlikely blunt object with a more culturally accurate one. I am mentioning it here because it comes up again in this chapter. This was a tough one to write. **Please Note:** If you had difficulty with the descriptions of child abuse in chapter 17, I recommend bypassing this one and joining us again in chapter 34.

* * *

 _ **Glasgow Daily**_

17 September 1973

 **Teen Boy Arrested for Beating His Father**

A fourteen year-old boy was taken into custody after he brutally bludgeoned his father.

Alistair Tucker was hospitalised with considerable injuries to his head and torso. He is currently in serious but stable condition at Maryhill Hospital.

According to Mrs. Tucker, their fourteen-year-old son attacked Alistair with a shinty club shortly after hearing that his two-year-old brother, Duncan, who was hospitalised the previous day, passed away. Mrs. Tucker reports that her oldest son has never shown any signs of aggression toward his father before, and maintains that this attack was triggered by grief over the death of his younger brother.

 _ **Glasgow Daily**_

20 September 1973

 **Alistair Tucker Detained Pending Inquiry**

Alistair Tucker of Maryhill has been taken into custody pending an inquiry into allegations of child abuse.

After Monday's news about the brutal beating of Alistair Tucker by his oldest son, the Glasgow Police Force discovered extensive evidence of child abuse. Given the circumstances surrounding the youngest Tucker child's recent death, police arrested Alistair Tucker pending an inquiry.

The youngest Tucker child died of an apparent accidental poisoning. Upon arrival at hospital, Alistair told doctors that he found his son unconscious in a shed where he stored cleaning supplies for his caretaker business, and surmised that the two year-old ingested some of the caustic agents.

Tucker the senior is still in serious condition at Maryhill Hospital. Upon release from hospital he will be transported to HMP Barnlinnie for the duration of the inquiry.

The allegations of child abuse emerged from several sources, including Alistair's nine-year-old daughter, the nurse at Cleveden Secondary School and the warden at RS Rossie Juvenile Detention Centre, where the oldest Tucker child was detained for the brutal attack on his father. The 14 year-old has since been released into the custody of his maternal grandmother, who will serve as guardian for both remaining Tucker children until the conclusion of the inquiry. At this time, Lydia Tucker, wife of Alistair Tucker, is not suspected of any wrongdoing.

 _Fuck. Malcolm_. Jamie shuffled back through the articles for a second time. Beverly had poked her head in a while ago to let him know dinner was almost ready and he'd told her he was coming, but he'd lost his appetite.

The worst article was the retrospective piece in the weekend edition after the conviction of Malcolm's father for directly causing the death of his youngest child. That one had pictures of some of the evidence, notably a picture of a young child's hands with deep ligature marks around the wrists, the restraints used to secure the two-year-old boy and the funnel used to pour ammonia down his throat, which reportedly had his saliva and teeth marks on it. The most haunting image of all for Jamie was the picture of an adolescent boy's bruised and battered torso. While the picture was of the torso only, the caption identified it as Malcolm's, photographed upon admission to the juvenile detention centre.

Other evidence that was mentioned but not shown in the article included x-rays from both Duncan and Malcolm documenting an alarming array of fractures. Both boys had spiral fractures to the forearm. One x-ray of Malcolm's showed multiple rib fractures. Testimony from the nurse at Malcolm's school described in detail the many injuries she'd seen on Malcolm over his two years in secondary school leading up to the attack on his father.

There was also a box of pornography, including an extensive collection of child pornography. The box was retrieved from an outbuilding Tucker the senior used as a workshop. The article went on to say that there was no direct evidence of any sexual abuse to the Tucker children, and that both surviving children were interviewed by their caseworker and denied any sexual contact with their father. The mere mention of the possibility led Jamie to believe there was strong suspicion that Tucker had done more than beat his children. The very thought of it turned his stomach.

Jaime rubbed his eyes, trying to remove the images. As a father, he wanted to find where Alistair Tucker was buried, dig him up, and kill him again.

"Jamie?" Beverly called from the kitchen. He stuffed the articles back in the manila envelope and headed down to have dinner with his family.

After the meal was done and both kids were washed, dried, brushed, and asleep in bed and crib, Jamie stole into Morgan's room. The almost six-year-old lay on his side, facing away from the doorway. The pile of library books were stacked haphazardly on the nightstand, a _Where's Wally?_ book on top. His breathing was slow and relaxed in sleep. Jamie watched him for a while. _You're safe, son. I'm here to keep you safe_.


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note:**

This chapter takes us through the rest of Sunday through to early Monday morning. Thanks for sticking with this story. Reviews are always welcome!

* * *

Dinner was a tense affair. Malcolm pushed the food around on his plate, his mind seemingly a million miles away from their kitchen. Sam had to remind him that he needed to gain a stone before the biopsy to get him to eat, and then it was more of a mechanical process than actual enjoyment of the food. Any queries into how he was feeling or what he was thinking about were met with a false smile and an overly bright "I'm fine."

He'd spent two hours that afternoon with Jamie working through strategy and tactics for tomorrow's meeting. Sam surmised Malcolm was more comfortable in that arena than dealing with the mixed cauldron of emotions about what he'd read in the articles or the fact that his carefully hidden childhood had been so gaudily displayed to the media. Eventually, he would have no choice. When that time came, Sam wanted to be there.

She got her chance at two in the morning when she awakened to the sound of something crashing to the floor. She rolled over and saw Malcolm thrashing around in bed, obviously in the grip of a nightmare. She turned on the lamp on the nightstand, sat up and got closer to him, but knew not to touch him until he was awake. Then she saw that what had crashed to the floor was the IV stand. A growing streak of crimson stained the sheets. "Malcolm, wake up!" She called urgently, hoping to break through to him.

He startled and sat up in bed, panting. Sam got out of the bed on her side and scrambled around to his side. His arm was bleeding heavily. The port had dislodged when the IV stand went over. "Malcolm?" He was pale and sweaty. His eyes were unfocussed, as if he was still in the dream. Sam hesitantly reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Malc, wake up. You're bleeding."

"Julia?" Malcolm looked at her. He was awake now, but disoriented.

"No, it's Sam. Are you awake?" That seemed to snap him out of it.

"Yeah. Bad dream." He looked down at the sheets and saw the blood, then looked quickly up to Sam. "Fuck—did I hurt you?"

Sam pressed the already ruined sheet against the port site. "You knocked over the IV stand and your port came out. Hold this here, Luv. Put pressure on it. I'm going to get some things. I'll be right back." When she was sure he had enough pressure on the site of the wound she hurried upstairs to the master bathroom to gather what she had in the way of first aid supplies. On the way back she took her phone off of the charger and brought it with her.

Back in the guest room, Malcolm was now fully awake and oriented, dutifully holding pressure on the port site.

"Here, let me see," Sam prised Malcolm's hand away from the wound. The bleeding had slowed, but fresh blood still trickled out without pressure. Deep bruising spread about four centimetres on either side of the needle mark. "Okay, hold it again for me." Sam used peroxide to clean around where Malcolm's fingers held the sheet against the wound, then she used two plasters to affix a wadded up gause pad. Finally, she wrapped an old elastic bandage around it to keep the pressure on.

Surveying the amount of blood on the sheets, Malcolm's pyjamas and his paler than usual face, Sam considered packing him up and back to A&E. On his own, he'd found the dislodged oxygen cannula and put it back on, as well as the sat monitor. At least his sat was nicely above 90%.

"How are you feeling? You lost a lot of blood." She clasped his hand, which was cold, clammy and trembling. "I think we need to go to A&E."

"No, Sam. I'm fine, really. I'll be fine. _Please._ No A &E."

"Malc, you lost a lot of blood, and the port's out of your arm. You can't miss your antibiotics."

"The home nurse is coming in the morning. She can put it back in."

They went back and forth for a while. After more time awake, Malcolm's colour improved and his skin was no longer cold and clammy. Sam finally called the 24-hour number on the discharge papers and explained the situation to the on duty nurse. The nurse had Sam count Malcolm's pulse and then asked Malcolm some questions to assess his level of orientation. In the end, the nurse agreed it could wait until morning and said she would leave a message for the home nurse to rearrange her schedule so that Malcolm was the first patient and to bring a new IV port kit. The nurse advised Sam to make sure he took in lots of fluids and didn't move around much until he'd had his arm looked after.

With the sheets in complete disarray and spattered with gore, Sam shepherded Malcolm onto the sofa and covered him with a blanket. After brewing tea, she joined him under the blanket.

"I'm sorry I frightened you." Malc's face was a study in guilt. Sam rubbed his chest.

"Malc, I'm worried about you. You're still sick. And now you've got all this old stuff coming up. No wonder you had a nightmare. You keep saying the past is in the past, but I don't think it can stay there anymore. I just wish I could make it easier somehow." He covered her hand with his own, twining their fingers together.

"You do, Sam. I dinna know what I'd do without you."

They lay that way for a while. Sam had her head over his heart. The sound of his heartbeat soothed her. She was almost asleep when he said, "I'll do it. I'll go see a counsellor. But I'm still not going to the police." She sat up and looked at him. His eyes looked so tired. She could see pain in those eyes. More pain than she could stand. Her eyes welled up and she planted a kiss on is forehead.

"I love you, Malc."

"I love you too, Sam." They snuggled a little longer, both in their own thoughts until Malcolm broke the silence again.

"Could you do something for me? Could you read the articles with me? I need to look at them again, but I dinna think it's a good idea to do it on my own."

They spent the rest of the night twined together on the sofa, drinking tea and perusing the _Glasgow Daily_ articles. Gradually, Malcolm began commenting on what they read, filling in details that were not in the papers. Sam was careful not to react, other than to hold him closer and show her understanding and support. Inside, her heart broke for the frightened, lonely young boy who had gone through such horrors.

* * *

Across town in the McDonald residence, Jamie shouted himself awake. He found himself sitting up in bed, drenched with sweat. Beverly sat up and rubbed his back.

"Sorry to wake you. Bad dream." Jamie scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to wipe the remnants of the nightmare away. Maisie's wail from the nursery was amplified on the monitor. Bev gave his shoulder a squeeze and slipped out of bed to get Maisie back to sleep.

"Dad?" Morgan poked his head in from the hallway. Apparently, he'd raised the whole house.

"Hey, son. Sorry. Da had a bad dream. We're okay. Let's get you back to bed." Jamie took Morgan back to his room and stayed with him until he drifted off.

Jamie knew he was up for the night. No way he'd be able to sleep again after that dream, which brought to life what he'd read in the _Glasgow Daily_ articles in high definition. Thankfully, the details were already fading, leaving Jamie with residual feelings of anger, fear and sadness.

Clearly, reading those articles had shaken him up. It was two o'clock in the morning, and not the first time he turned to work when sleep abandoned him. He worked on his laptop in the living room for a few hours, and then showered and headed in to Number Ten before the reshuffle festivities began in earnest.


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note:**

Just a heads up that I'm doing some polishing on earlier chapters—mainly to correct any inadvertent American spellings or continuity errors. If anything significant changes that impacts content moving forward, I will give a heads up in Author's Notes at the beginning of the most current chapter. While it's not a huge change, I did some minor grooming to Chapter 33 that may be worth revisiting.

It's Monday morning in reshuffle land.

* * *

 _ **The Mirror**_

14 November 20XX

 **The Labour Party Works Through an Identity Crisis**

 _PM's reshuffle brings in a more liberal slate. What does that mean?_

 _ **The Guardian**_

14 November 20XX

 **Ray Hartford Sacked, Dan Miller in for International Affairs**

 _Miller to take a fresh approach_

* * *

 **MALCOLM:** Nice reshuffle comms. What's the dial in for the Dan Miller meeting?

 **JAMIE:** Check your In Box.

 **MALCOLM:** K – talk soon.

The sacking of Ray Hartford went well. Fortunately, the ponce was in the office early, so Jamie dropped in on him and did the deed with no muss, no fuss and no press attention.

Hartford knew it was coming. Though he grumbled that he was being pushed out because of his conservative views, Jamie was relieved that he didn't flap about dramatically or refuse to leave. In the end, he packed a single cardboard box, handed over his laptop, Blackberry and ID badge and left within the hour. Jamie suspected Hartford wanted to get home before the press swarmed Number Ten for news about reshuffle.

Jamie popped in on Julius to let him know Ray was officially gone and also confirmed plans for the afternoon meeting at Malcolm's. He considered raising the subject of the meeting with the PM's adviser, but decided against it. From there, he headed downstairs to Malcolm's office.

After some discussion with Malcolm, they'd agreed Jamie should use Malcolm's office for the meetings with Dan Miller and the five new junior ministers. While Malc typically did the "blooding in" of all new ministers, he had given Jamie the honors, along with continuing to follow up with the plebes as they settled into their new roles. While Malcolm didn't say it, Jamie knew this was part of his own ongoing development.

Malcolm would join the Dan Miller meeting by phone. Although he was out of the office with no firm return date, Malcolm insisted on meeting with Dan in person on Tuesday to talk about the new role and work through strategy and positioning. Jamie wondered if Sam was aware of that plan yet, and if there would be any bloodletting at the Tucker household when she found out.

He'd spoken with the bastard in the wee hours of the morning. Malcolm called to check in with him before he talked to Ray and to confirm the Dan meeting time. Toward the end of the call, Jamie made the mistake of raising the subject of the _Glasgow Daily_ articles.

He just wanted to acknowledge that he'd read them and try to convey how horrible he felt about what Malcolm must have gone through. He still had a residual hollow feeling in his stomach from his nightmare. He got as far as 'I read those articles. Jesus fucking Christ, Malcolm-' when the communications director cut him off sharply. His tone was severe.

"I don't want to hear it. Don't go there. This is a business matter. I just need you to know the content so you're not surprised if this ends up going public. If it does, I'll need a good publicist, and you're my first choice, so don't fuck it up."

The Dan meeting was very short. Dan arrived, looking anticipatory but also somewhat guarded when he walked into Malcolm's office and saw Jamie at the desk, rather than the enforcer. Jamie ignored the apparent reservations and greeted Miller warmly, quickly explaining that Malcolm would join by phone.

Miller seemed pleased but not surprised when Malcolm offered him the International Affairs ministry. His response reinforced Jamie's impression that Dan was one cagey bastard, and probably well suited for a quick ascent to Party leadership. Though the meeting was only fifteen minutes long, Jamie could tell that Malcolm was getting tired toward the end of the call. Jamie was feeling tired himself. His sleepless night weighed on him like a lead undershirt.

After Dan and Malcolm firmed up plans to meet in person at Malcolm's home the next morning, Jamie walked Miller up to the PM's office and then made a quick coffee detour before his meetings with the new incumbents.

Similarly to Dan's meeting, the incumbent meetings were fairly short. Jamie congratulated them on their selection, gave them enough information that each had a clear idea of their immediate calendar and priorities, explained how he would work with them over the next several weeks, and then walked them up to the PM's office to meet the big boss.

Overall, Jamie found it pleasurable to convey the good news and get them started on what he hoped was the right trajectory. He only hoped none of them fucked up too badly during their first week. He wasn't sure he had the energy and street smarts to do the kind of firefighting he'd seen Malcolm do with a new batch of ministers. He sincerely hoped none of them ran amok this afternoon. Jamie, Julius and Malcolm would all be out of pocket.

After showing the last incumbent up to the PM's office, Jamie took the car service over to DoSAC. He checked in with Nicola and found that she'd already had a heads up from Malcolm about what was happening next.

"So, you're going to do it now?" she stage-whispered even though her office door was closed.

"Yes, now. He's around, right?"

"Yes, he's at his desk. Do you want me to go with you?"

"Nae, I've got it from here." While Nicola knew Ollie was being pulled for a meeting with Malcolm, Jamie doubted she knew the true substance of the meeting. Malcolm most likely let her assume it was about Ollie's consistently poor performance.

Jamie exited Nicola's office and headed directly to Ollie's desk. The junior adviser faced his computer monitor, phone handset wedged between his ear and shoulder.

"Yes, we want all of the immigration figures. That's right—hello?"

Jamie had hit the cutoff button on the phone. Ollie turned toward him, fumbling the handset when he saw who it was.

"Jamie! I didn't know you were here." Jamie took a deep breath. This next bit wouldn't be easy.

"Hey there, Ollie! Happy reshuffle day, huh?"

"Uh, yes, I suppose…"

Jamie tried to look and sound as relaxed and jovial as possible. If they were right about Ollie, Jamie would deserve BAFTA award before they were through. This was just the first scene in a three-act play.

"Mate, need you for a special project at Number Ten. I've got a car waiting, so hurry up. Yes, bring your laptop." Jamie could tell Ollie was trying to act as if everything was perfectly fine. Jamie was also intensely aware of their audience. Robyn, Terri and Glen were all watching and listening. He was sure that the minute they left the area there would be wagers on whether they'd ever see Reeder again. If Jamie had his way, they wouldn't.

Once in the car, Ollie dropped the act.

"We're not going to Number Ten, are we?"

"No, we aren't."

"Then where are we going?"

"Malcolm's." Ollie sighed. Jamie figured this was as good a time as any to do what was likely the hardest bit.

"Look, Ollie, I know I came down a little hard on you the other day, and I'm sorry for that. If I had it to do over I would've handled it differently. Okay?" Ollie said nothing. "Do you accept my apology?"

"Okay, okay, whatever." Reeder looked out the window, obviously not wanting to have any more to do with Jamie right now. That was fine with Jamie. They rode the rest of the way to Malcolm's in silence.


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's Note:**

This is a short chapter, but a much longer one is on it's way shortly. Thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites!

* * *

Malcolm was running late in getting ready for his guests. Julius had already arrived, and Jamie and Ollie were en route from the PFI building. With the new IV port in his left arm and the bruising and stiffness in his right arm, showering and dressing took longer than expected.

The home nurse arrived at eight in the morning to address his injury and insert the new port. Sam watched as she checked his vitals, clearly still concerned about the blood he'd lost. The home nurse confirmed that his blood pressure was fine and he showed no signs of shock, but Sam still seemed skeptical.

Malcolm felt badly about scaring her and wanted to do everything he could to show her that he was on the mend and could take care of himself. Between the low oxygen incident on Sunday afternoon and then the accident with the IV port, he had a lot of evidence to the contrary to overcome.

After the home nurse left they had just enough time for a quick breakfast before his call with Jamie and Dan. When he disconnected the call he found Sam poised beside him with the nebuliser and medication for his breathing treatment. Clearly she was still on red alert. Neither of them had much sleep, and that just made things worse.

Since Sunday, Sam insisted that he only go without oxygen when they were together. While Malcolm understood her concern, at some point she would have to trust that he was okay and following all the medical instructions.

Which was partially why he'd opted to wear the cannula for this meeting. While he could already go more than two hours off the oxygen without a low saturation alarm, Sam would not be in the meeting with them, and Malc knew she'd feel better if she knew he was wearing it.

Malcolm also thought it was likely he would get agitated during the meeting, and he'd already noticed a trend with low oxygen levels when he got upset. While he hated to show up to a meeting like this looking vulnerable, wearing the cannula would be immeasurably better than having a low saturation alarm during the meeting.

After his breathing treatment Malcolm managed to wedge in a call to Doctor Ravi to ask for a referral to a counsellor. The good doctor called him back within the hour with the names of both a counsellor and an internist. He immediately regretted telling Sam he would go see a counsellor. Just after awakening from the nightmare to find himself covered in blood and Sam frightened half to death, it seemed like a necessary step. The last thing he wanted was to keep scaring Sam.

His greatest fear was that seeing a counsellor would actually make things worse. For all these years he'd been able to function just fine. He rarely had the nightmare, and until recently he didn't see any evidence that the events of his childhood were impacting his life or the people around him. But he knew Sam felt a distance. She'd long ago stopped trying to find ways to get him to talk about his growing up years. And now the memories were bubbling up from the depths in spite of his best efforts to suppress them. Malcolm felt like he was drowning.

And then there were instances where Malcolm was engaged in a conflict or heated debate in the course of work and found himself saying or doing things that reminded him of his father and it fucking freaked him out. So maybe there were some impacts. Including his lungs. They still had yet to see what the long-term prognosis was on those. His denial was sliding away like an avalanche of snow to reveal the cliff face of his woundedness and he fucking loathed it.

All the same, Malcolm would rather not call the counsellor and instead just do what he needed to do to make the current swirl go away. Surely it would. This meeting might nip it in bud. If it turned out he was wrong, while he was a public figure, it wasn't like the public knew or cared overly much about the likes of him. He was a backroom boy.

Seeing a counsellor also came with the risk of discovery. If the press got wind that he was in therapy it could well lead back to the very attention he was trying to avoid and would doubtless raise concerns about his role in the Labour Party. His stomach tightened with anxiety at the possibility.

But he knew he would call for Sam's sake, regardless of the consequences.

He heard a car roll up. Ollie and Jamie had arrived. Malcolm took one more look in the mirror. _Am I up for this?_ His reflection didn't have an answer.


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Note:**

As promised, here is a nice long chapter. US East coasters, I hope you are in out of the storm. Hopefully, this chapter can fill some time until the roads are clear.

* * *

Malcolm heard Sam meet McDonald and Reeder and usher them into the living room. He waited on the other side of the guest room door, listening as they got settled and Sam brought in coffee.

Malcolm made his entrance, doing his best to navigate the furniture now that the IV stand was on his left hand side. Jamie seemed to recognise the difficulty and pulled the ottoman away from Malcolm's favorite wing backed chair so he could more easily sit down.

"How you feeling, boss?" Jamie asked.

"Better, thanks. Starting to get my energy back." At least he had been until today. He was fucking fried. Perhaps he'd been overly ambitious in his plans for the day. Sam tried to persuade him to postpone this meeting until Tuesday, but he couldn't take the risk.

"Good to hear it, Malcolm," Julius chimed in.

Reeder looked agitated. His normally pale complexion had faded to a pasty white hue. He was already visibly sweating and they hadn't even gotten started yet.

Malcolm wondered whether Jamie had used their time in the car to apologise for the way he handled things with Ollie the previous week, as Malcolm had suggested. Although Malcolm hadn't been there and received only the sketchiest of details from the man himself, he could read Jamie's body language like a Dickens novel. Malc knew he'd gone over the top. Again.

"How are _you_ doing, Ollie?" Malcolm asked.

"Fine. Look, what is this about?"

Malcolm paused to collect himself before responding. A quick glance at the oxygen saturation meter told him he was in good shape, nearly at 100%. So he began.

"I don't remember much of last Wednesday, but I understand from Nicola that we were in the middle of rehearsing for her live apology on BBC when I passed out. Nicola says I was giving you a fair bollocking. Is that right?"

"Well, I wouldn't say it was a bollocking, really more of a harpooning of the gonads, so to speak."

"Oh? What was I on about?" Over the past few days Malcolm had actually regained most of his memory of Wednesday morning. He was admittedly somewhat foggy about the meeting with DoSAC, but remembered his planned trajectory. It would be interesting to hear Ollie's perspective.

"You seemed to think I didn't know how to prepare speakers. You had Nicola rehearsing with Glen and Terri and called me out a little bit. A lot, actually."

"Did I, now?"

"Nicola changed the lines because she was worried about messing them up. I wanted to re-write the lines, but you, Glen and Terri said that was the wrong thing to do."

"So we were all in agreement then. What happened next?"

"Well, you passed out. That was basically the end of the meeting. Sam came in and called EMS, then sent me out to wait for the ambulance."

"So, from there, you called the editors at the top three and gave them a heads up that there was something going on at Number Ten."

Ollie had nothing to say to that.

"Come on, you can own up to that. I know you and Jamie talked. I've actually heard about it from one of the journalists that showed up. That's what you did, right?"

Another very long pause. Ollie finally spoke, not meeting Malcolm's gaze. "Well, yeah. You really had a go at me in front of everyone. It felt like poetic justice to get you a little media attention so you could see how it feels to be humiliated in front of your peers."

"Ollie, do you really think those two things are anywhere near on the same level? Receiving some admittedly rough but well-intended coaching in front of a small group, compared to inciting a press frenzy to create some swirl?"

"You wouldn't think so much of it if you didn't have anything to hide, Malcolm. People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

 _Here we go,_ Malcolm thought. He felt his pulse pounding in his neck and was glad of the oxygen. "You speak as if you know something about me. Do tell. Just among us. What do you think I'm hiding?"

"It's public record that when you were fourteen you attacked your own father, nearly killed him, and went to gaol. You were a bully then and you're still a bully now." Neither Jamie nor Julius reacted to that. If Ollie was trying to shock or surprise them, he'd have to try a little harder.

"I was only in gaol for two days, and it was a juvenile offense. And the bastard lived, by the way, which I think you know. Come on, that's not the whole story. What else did you find out about me? And how did you come by this information?"

Ollie seemed to finally realise he had said too much. He didn't manage to produce an answer. Malcolm signalled to Jamie, who produced the manila envelope full of articles from Marianne. He pulled the contents out of the envelope and spread it out on the coffee table in front of Ollie.

"I—I've never seen that before in my life!"

"Marianne Swift was here yesterday. She gave me this. She didn't know who sent it, but I knew right away, Ollie. You're the only person I could think of who is currently angry enough with me and also morally bankrupt enough to sink this low. What were you trying to accomplish?"

No answer from the junior adviser. Malcolm breathed and waited. He knew Ollie would eventually have to fill the silence. Jamie was sitting on the edge of his chair, clearly wanting to weigh in. _Be patient, Jamie_. Julius sat back in his chair, a dark expression on his face. Finally, Ollie broke the silence.

"It was after Jamie attacked me outside of St. Thomas's."

That was too much for Jamie. "I dinna _attack_ you, you twat. If I'd attacked you, there would've been bits of you smeared across the parking lot for days to come. We just had a conversation." Jamie looked to Malcolm. "It was just a conversation." His facial expression, however, didn't match his words. His non-verbals had remorse written all over them. _Oh Jamie, we've got to work on your anger_ , Malcolm thought.

"Shut up, Jamie. Go on Ollie."

Ollie glanced up at Malcolm and cut his eyes briefly to Jamie, who was clearly seething. If looks could kill, Reeder would be a pile of ash.

"I went back into A&E, but couldn't find Nicola or the others. So, I walked back to Number Ten. Between the bollocking you gave me and then Jamie threatening me, I was pretty mad. My plan was to talk to Julius about it and get him to intervene." Nicholson sat up, a perplexed expression on his face.

"And what were you expecting me to do, Ollie? Tell the PM? This isn't first form, you know."

"No, nothing like that. I just wanted you to get them to back off."

Malcolm had other ideas about Ollie's intent, but withheld them for the moment. He was really glad he'd asked Nicholson to be in on this. "But you didn't find Julius, did you?"

"No. He was off with the PM to record his broadcast. But his office was open. I thought I'd just wait for him."

"You went in my office?" Julius sounded piqued at the audacity.

"Yeah. Well, the door was open, and I thought you'd be right back. While I was waiting I had a look around and noticed a file drawer labeled personnel. It wasn't locked, by the way. I found Malcolm's file and copied down a few things to research on the Internet."

"You went in my _confidential_ files?"

"You _didn't lock_ your _confidential_ files? Julius, how long have you been in politics?" Malcolm reigned himself in, not wanting to take the focus off of Ollie. His heart was racing and he felt giddy. The saturation meter beeped. 87%. He breathed through the cannula slowly, trying to calm himself. He heard a floorboard creak in the kitchen. While he knew Sam would never eavesdrop on the conversation, when it came to the low oxygen alarm she had ears like a bat.

"I swear they're usually locked. That was just one time. I'd gone in there to get the CVs on the reshuffle candidates just before the PM's address. And they _were_ locked, but I'd left the key in by mistake, so you _did_ actually unlock them, Ollie. Even if they'd been wide open it would be wrong to look through them. Even you should know that." Malcolm held up a hand to stop the downward spiral in the conversation.

"Let's not go there right now. Everybody just calm down." Malcolm paused, watching Julius, Jamie and Ollie until they all seemed to settle down. Malcolm used the time himself to breathe and set aside his anger at Julius for such carelessness. The man was staying for dinner, for Christ's sake. Right now the focus needed to be on Ollie or this wasn't going to work.

"Let me recap where we are right now to make sure I understand. Ollie, you're saying you had rough treatment from Jamie and me, so you went back to Number Ten to talk to Julius. Instead, you looked through his confidential files to find some dirt. Did you happen to look at any other files, or just mine?" Malcolm tried to sound as casual and nonjudgmental as possible.

"Just yours, I swear. And the only thing in there was a note that you had an arrest record."

"So what did you do next? Let me guess. You went home or back to the office and did some Internet research, which led you to the press coverage of my arrest and the rest of it. You obtained photocopies of the relevant articles and sent them to Marianne Swift. You even called her and suggested she do a story on me. Is that basically the sequence of events?"

Ollie took a while to respond. "Yes, that's basically it, but you're making it sound worse than it really was."

"I don't know how it could be made out worse than it actually was, Ollie. I mean, that's pretty fucking bad." Malcolm paused to breathe and give Ollie some white space to consider the magnitude of his overreaction. "What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"Well, you'd be exposed. Humiliated. The press would go after you. Maybe you'd even have to step down."

"And then what?"

"I dunno." Ollie looked as if he'd just recognised the short-sightedness of his actions.

"Oh come on. Let's play this out. Let's say things went the way you hoped and I resigned or was sacked because of the swirl from this _very_ old news. Who do you think would be the next communications director?" Ollie's eyes involuntarily cut over to Jamie and then back to Malcolm. "Do you think you would like working with him more than with me? Better get a brass jock strap."

"No, get titanium" Jamie's delivery was perfectly deadpan.

"That's the hardest metal, I believe," Julius offered. Usually jovial and easygoing, the PM's adviser was still visibly upset at hearing Ollie had gone through his files. Even if Malcolm was still vexed at Nicholson for leaving the file unlocked, he keenly relished the rare moments when they were on the same side.

Ollie smiled nervously. Malcolm was pretty sure they'd reached the tipping point.

"Look, I didn't mean for any of this to get so serious. Right? I mean, I was just having a go at you the same way you have a go at people all the time, Malcolm." Jamie looked like he was going to come out of his seat. Malcolm held up a hand and Jamie heeled like a good guard dog.

Malcolm took a moment to absorb that and manage his reaction. Ollie had hit a nerve. The worst thing he could do in this moment was show anger. Pretty tall order. He was fucking furious.

"Is that what you think I'm doing? Is that what you thought I was doing to you on Wednesday?" Ollie nodded and looked like he wanted to respond, so Malcolm cut him off. After all, it was a rhetorical question.

"Think back to what you just told me about Wednesday, Ollie. We were doing a rehearsal. I was trying to help you see that your role isna just writing the comms and getting Nicola to say them. It's about working with her to make sure what you write works for her and also covers the political need. In that instance, you did neither. That's coaching, son. When I work with Nicola, it's coaching. With all the other ministers, coaching. With you, it's coaching, too. Maybe it's not as soft and fucking touchy feely as you'd like, but it usually gets the job done. You might hate me for a while. But believe me, you'll thank me later when you are better at what you do."

"But it's not just me, Malcolm. Everybody hates you. Everyone's afraid of getting a bollocking from Malcolm-fucking-Tucker."

"That's right. And I don't care. They can fucking hate me all day long, but when I go home at night I can lay my head on the pillow and know I did my best to make the Labour party and the people in it stronger."

"That's scruples. Something you havena got." Malcolm shot Jamie a look. He didn't know if he should feel grateful for the backup or angry at the effect Jamie's words might have on Ollie. He decided to change tack. It was time to get young master Reeder into the grow or go zone. They'd better get there soon, because he was running out of energy.

"Ollie, what got you interested in politics? Why did you go into this business?" The junior adviser hardly appeared to consider the question.

"The power. In politics, the people who pay attention and do their homework are the ones who can influence events. People respect them. They have leverage with important people and can use it to get things done. I want to have that kind of power." Jamie made a noise of dismissal. Malcolm ignored it. Julius smiled a little at Ollie's answer.

"So, for you, it's all about power. So, why the Labour party, Ollie?" Ollie's facial expression implied the answer was common sense.

"Well, obviously, the Labour party is currently in power."

"So you have no loyalty to the Labour party, then? If we're out of office come next election, will you just cross the aisle to whoever has the power then?" Ollie blinked. "How many times are you prepared to cross the aisle? Could get tiresome. And before long, the ones in power will see you're really just a mercenary. How much power do you think you'll have then?"

Malcolm let the silence spin out. He was nearly at his limit. Julius filled the void.

"You know, I always thought you were young and impressionable, somewhat naïve in a charming way. What you've done here has compromised your position with Nicola and in the Labour party pretty severely."

"So, am I sacked, then? Is that what this is?" Julius looked over at Malcolm, passing the baton. Jamie's face was stony. He knew what was coming, and Malcolm knew he didn't agree with it.

"That's not for us to say. Nicola's your boss. She doesn't know anything about this, but we could make her aware of it."

"Great. Another thing she can add to her shit list." Malcolm smiled inwardly. Sounds like Murray found her lady bollocks.

"This isna a sacking, Ollie. This is a second chance. If you want it. But if you do, you're going to have to come at things with a new perspective. I'm not shitting you. If you pull another stunt like this, you're fucking _gone_. Done in politics. I will see to it that everyone on both sides of the aisle and every editor I know understands the depths you can stoop to over some hurt feelings. You could even face criminal charges." Malcolm wasn't positive about that last bit, but was sure Ollie wouldn't know the difference.

More silence. This time, Jamie and Julius did nothing to break it. Ollie looked like he might need to vomit. Or change his pants. Or both. Finally, the little twat found his voice.

"So, what happens next?"

"You want the second chance, then?" Malcolm needed him to say it. In order to work with anyone the way he planned to work with Ollie, he needed to be invited in. Just like a vampire.

"Yes. I want the second chance." Malcolm couldn't help smiling.

"That's great, Ollie. I think you made the right decision. So what's next? Well, you're done working for today. Just go home. Or go on a nice walk. Think about what we discussed and get your head clear."

"Okay, I can do that." It seemed that now that they were into the solution shock was setting in. Ollie's hand shook reaching for his coffee, which was likely cold at this point. When he took a sip he aspirated it and then spilled it down his shirt while coughing. Malcolm looked elsewhere, giving him time to recover.

"Then tomorrow, I'd like you to go with Terri to the morning Comms meeting at Number Ten. You'll be with Jamie after the meeting for the rest of the day, serving as his attaché.

"His _what?_ I mean…but he— _hates_ me." Jamie's expression remained blank, though Malcolm could tell he was clenching his jaw.

"Jamie, do you hate Ollie?"

"Nae, Malcolm. I dinna hate Ollie, even if he is a twat."

"There you go. He likes you, Ollie. I know it's hard to read him, but I've been working with him a long time. He doesna hate you. But he does tend to overreact when people do shitty things, right?"

"Just don't fuck up and we'll get on fine, mate." Malcolm was proud of Jamie in this moment. This assignment was for Jamie just as much as it was for Reeder—maybe more.

"I will let Nicola know you're out of pocket for tomorrow, and then you're back with her for the rest of the week. Sam will call to set up a meeting with me this Friday here at the house." Malcolm planned to have weekly meetings with Ollie during this intensive care period. Either Ollie would get on board and turn it around or he wouldn't.

"Alright, then." Ollie seemed to make a decision. He clasped his hands and nodded vigourously. "Okay."

Sam called the car service for Jamie and Ollie. Malcolm was certain it would be a tense ride back to DoSAC.

"Nice job, old man. It's always a pleasure to see you in action." Malcolm grinned.

"I do have a certain charm in these situations. Could you check and see if he piddled on my sofa?"

Julius stood and made a point of feeling the cushion Ollie had been sitting on. "No, you're in luck, it's dry."

Sam came in to freshen up their coffees and remind Malcolm it was past time for his breathing treatment.

"I will leave you with Sam for the duration. I'm no fun when I'm getting a treatment. I just nod off like a junkie." Malcolm stood a little shakily and grasped the IV pole. Julius stood as well, offering a stabilising arm until he was steady. Normally, Malcolm would bristle at that, but he was just too fucking tired.

"Thanks for being in on this, Julius."

"Happy to do it, and sorry he got the lead from me." Malcolm took in the apology for closer examination later. He knew it was an honest mistake. But _fuck_. Way to wreck a life, Julius.

"Nothing like having the PM's adviser sitting in on a bollocking to add weight to the proceedings. Seriously, thanks." Malcolm left Julius to take his breathing treatment in the bedroom and contemplate that apology. Knowing Julius for the gourmand he was, Malcolm knew he was happy to hang out with Sam in the kitchen while she cooked.


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Note:**

This is a little mid-week micro chapter with hopefully another to follow in a few days. This story has a definite chain of events leading up to the conclusion, but there are a terrifying number of side-trips that could happen along the way. To be honest, it's somewhat paralyzing. I'd appreciate hearing from you, faithful readers, about anything you're curious about, hopeful for, or wanting to find out. Your input will help me pick the side-trips wisely and not chase too many plot bunnies. Have a great week!

* * *

Malcolm twined a lock of Sam's hair between his fingers, contemplating the day. By the time they went to bed, Sam was almost comically tired, glassy-eyed and unable to stifle huge jaw-cracking yawns. Malcolm was sure she fell asleep the minute her head touched the pillow. Now, several hours later, he enjoyed the silky softness of her locks while she lay as if in a coma.

In spite of being equally tired, Malcolm found sleep unwelcoming. He drifted in and out of slumber, skimming across the tops of potential nightmares. Every time he started to fall more deeply into sleep, he forced himself awake. The last thing he wanted to do was awaken Sam with yet another pre-dawn drama, with or without the gore of dislodging his IV again.

Ollie was still on his mind. The junior adviser's actions were reprehensible – almost sociopathic. Malcolm understood why Jamie was so strongly against giving Reeder a second chance. Julius, too. Hell, probably anyone he asked would agree the wanker should be sacked and then fucking blacklisted. But Malcolm had a special weakness for long shots. He was a long shot himself.

When he worked with someone like Jamie or Nicola and he saw them start to change he felt somehow redeemed. If in some small way he was able to help a person become more authentic, become a better civil servant or trusted leader, maybe he was okay – making a contribution. He'd never worked with anyone as far-gone as Reeder, though. Not successfully.

Sam sighed and rolled over. Malcolm reluctantly let the lock of hair he was fiddling with slide through his fingers.

He still had a niggling concern about Reeder. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he had a sense that maybe the little twat hadn't been entirely honest. Well, of course not. He was probably a sociopath _and_ pathological liar. _Bet he wants to be a spin-doctor when he grows up, as long as it doesn't interfere with his sex life too much._ He'd have to get past his defences somehow to convince him it was in his best interest to be fully transparent. To get that, Malcolm would have to be equally transparent. Glass houses, indeed.

"What's wrong, Malc? Why aren't you sleeping?"

 _Fuck._ "I'm fine, Luv, go back to sleep." Too late – she was fully awake. Sam rolled back over to face him. She rubbed his chest, something that always soothed him and turned him on at the same time. Have to watch that – Friday was a long ways away.

"No, I can hear you thinking all the way over here. What is it? We've got an early start tomorrow." It was true. Jamie was coming for breakfast at six, followed by Dan Miller at eight.

Malcolm sighed and pulled her in close. "Sorry, just mulling things over." A yawn caught him by surprise. Going to have to give up the vigil – nightmares be damned.


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's Note:**

Happy Friday! Here's another installment. It's Tuesday morning in Reshuffle land. Reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

Breakfast with Malcolm and Sam was…weird. Nice, but weird. Jamie appreciated the opportunity to touch base with Malcolm before what looked to be a very challenging day, but he was still uncomfortable with the dubious task of working with Reeder all day, and more than a little miffed at Malcolm for taking this course of action, rather than filleting the little ponce and having done with it.

Layered on top of that was the residual emotional hangover from the stern words he received on Sunday when Malcolm laid out the game plan in the event that they discovered Reeder was the leak.

"Let this be a lesson to you. We wouldna be here if you'd handled things differently with Ollie on Wednesday."

Jamie had tried to explain that he hadn't done anything to Ollie, but he knew Malcolm saw right through him. The old bastard cut him off mid-excuse.

"Jamie, you're not fooling anyone. I hope you don't play poker."

He stayed silent. Nothing he could say at this juncture could make things any better, and given his track record recently, it could well make things worse.

"I know you're angry. I am too. If I'm right about this, that little twat might have tried to seriously fuck with my future. But we don't know that yet. And if I am right, then getting angry and bullying isna going to get us anywhere." Malcolm paused and breathed for a while. Jamie was determined not to fill the silence.

But finally he broke down. When it came to interrogation techniques, Malcolm was a master.

"I don't see how you can be so calm about this. That fucker is bad news. He's always been bad news. He's only out for himself. He'd fuck anybody to get ahead. Especially you. And you don't deserve it, Malc. He needs consequences, not compassion."

Malcolm waved a hand in the air. "He's making his own consequences. And he'll keep doing things like this his whole life if he doesn't get an opportunity to see that and decide to change."

"That's a load of fuck, Malcolm. Should we all sit in a circle and sing fucking Kum-Ba-Yah next? This isna a fucking _encounter group_ you're running. It's government communications. Reeder's dangerous. He's a fucking idiot, but he's a self-serving idiot. He doesn't care what kind of damage he does along the way."

"All true. And still, he needs a chance to turn it around. And what a great opportunity for you to try something different with the Ollies of the world."

Given that bollocking as a runner-up to breakfast with the boss, it took a while for Jamie to relax and enjoy the time with Malc and Sam. There was Malcolm his boss, and Malcolm, his friend. Jamie didn't know how the old bastard compartmentalised so well. He must have had to, growing up in that household. Compassion softened his mood at last, and Jamie found his appetite and also joined in on breakfast conversation.

"Thanks for RSVP'ing for Morgan's party. It's really just a small gathering."

"You only turn six once," Malcolm opined, stirring the remaining scrambled eggs around on his plate.

"Bev told me some of the things on his list. Third form reading level already. That's terrific!"

"He's a sharp one," Jamie tried not to puff up too much at Sam's comment. Morgan really was quite bright, well ahead of other lads his age.

The three of them made small talk about Morgan's birthday and the party on Thursday afternoon through breakfast. Jamie jumped to clear the table before Sam could get up. He helped her with the dishes while Malcolm made a fresh pot of coffee. After policing the kitchen, Sam left to run errands and Malc and Jamie settled in the living room with coffee.

"So, are you ready for your day with Ollie?"

"Aye," Jamie said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than he felt.

"Have you thought more about what you're going to do with him?"

"It depends if anything comes up during the comms meeting that needs action. If not, we'll pop in on Transport and then head over to the PFI building before the meet the press lunch with the new ministers."

"Any more swirl on Transport and the cabbie permits?"

"Not that I've seen."

The two men sat in silence for a while. At least the tension Jamie felt earlier was gone, and it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Malcolm finally spoke up.

"It might be good to get Ollie involved in Transport. We already know it's a maelstrom of shite over there, and Tom's public image just adds to the sewage. He needs someone working with him on his messaging."

"Do you really think Reeder's up to that? I mean, look at his track record."

"I don't know, Jamie. Ultimately, it's up to you. Tom needs someone. Ollie needs an opportunity to work with someone he doesn't already have history with. It would be good for him to break away from the DoSAC team part time and do some work where he's not surrounded by bad role models. I'm just saying it might be a good fit. Under your supervision, that is."

That was the premise behind Malcolm's whole approach to Ollie – giving him a chance to start with a clean slate.

"Just consider it. If after today you don't think it's a good idea, fine. If you think it might work, let's talk about it tomorrow morning."

"Okay, I will consider it. I just don't trust the wanker. If we do this, though, you'll be the one to raise it with Nicola, right?" Malcolm nodded.

"Yes, leave that bit to me. It's delicate, and I have an angle."

Another silence spun out. Jamie stole a look at the clock on the wall. He'd have to head to Number Ten shortly for the comms meeting. This was probably his last chance to raise it while they were alone.

"Malcolm, are you okay?" The enforcer shot him a piercing look and then his eyes darted away. Deflecting, then.

"Okay? Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?" Jamie's heart sped up. He hated doing this shit. But he really had to. It was driving him crazy.

"That's a dodge. Let's see, why _wouldn't_ you be okay? You only just got out of hospital and there's something wrong with your lungs and you had some kind of test that you're not talking about. Oh, and then there's also the fact that this pimply little OxBridge cunt just dug up the press coverage about your completely traumatic childhood and passed it to the press. But you're _fine_ , I'm sure."

The clock ticked. Malcolm didn't respond. But his non-verbals told it all. Malcolm wasn't anywhere near fine.

"Look, Malc, it's just that I'm concerned. You're my friend, and I care about you, and I want to help. But you've got to let me in."

Malcolm was unable to disguise a quick flash of anger in his eyes. He still did not look at Jamie. Jamie counted out ten seconds of silence.

"Just think about it. I'm here for you." Jamie gave Malcolm's shoulder a squeeze as he headed for the door.

After everything Malcolm had done for Jamie, the old bastard had it coming.

* * *

 **OLIVER REEDER:**

Hey, this is Ollie again. I'm not going to stop leaving messages. I _really need_ you to call me back. This is – I need you to give me back what I gave you and forget all about it. It was a mistake. _Please. Call me back._


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's Note:**

Ollie's getting off to a good start with Jamie, but it's not so easy to make a clean break from the past. More to come later this weekend or early next week. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

 **JAMIE:** This tosser's worthless.

 **MALCOLM:** You've only had him for an hour.

It really was a hell of a morning. Reeder was basically a tall, skinny, pale, sweaty mess pot. He managed to explode his pen in the middle of the comms meeting, leading to a spectacular blue stain on Malc's conference table and across his white button down shirt and tie. He tried to clean it up with a paper napkin and only succeeded in smearing the ink around even more.

The end result was so bad that Jamie took pity on him and gave him a button-down from the spare suit he always kept in his office. A sad commentary on life at Number Ten: always have a toothbrush and a backup wardrobe. The shirt was a little short in the arm for Ollie, but beat the alternative of parading around looking like an art project all day.

The coup de grace was the way he spilled coffee on Julius Nicholson's Guccis when they bumped into the PM's adviser in the hallway on the way out to the car from the service. Jamie used the car ride to try to get the little fucker to calm down. For obvious reasons, the junior adviser was very nervous.

"Look, you've got to get a grip on yourself, mate. We're headed to Transport and I need you _with_ me."

" _With_ you?"

"Yes, _with_ me. In the present moment, Grasshopper. We're walking into a shit storm and I need your help to sort it." That seemed to get Reeder's attention.

"Oh, um, what kind of shit storm?"

"Tom is supposed to be leading an inquiry into the issue with the delays in passing cabbie permits." That earned a blank look. Jamie tried not to go postal.

"Did you listen to the news at all last week? Remember not having the fucking car service?" At last Reeder was on the same page. Clearly the mad-on he had against Jamie and Malcolm must have crowded out everything else that was going on in the world.

"Right. Yes. Okay. So what's the issue with the inquiry?"

"Well, I'm not positive, but given the history, I'll bet a fiver nothing has happened since they called off the strike. Tom needs some creative inspiration to get moving before the LTDA figures out nothing's happening and decides to strike again."

They used the remaining minutes of the short ride to work through a standard "good cop" "bad cop" game plan. By the time they arrived, Ollie seemed less nervous and even floated two reasonably good ideas he could offer to Tom.

And things went well with Tom. The minister was predictably flustered by Jamie's aggressive approach. Jamie called him out on the lack of action and painted a vivid profanity-laden picture of the burning platform that _was_ Transport at the moment. When Jamie saw the fearful, broken look he'd come to know all too well, he handed the minister off to Ollie.

And Ollie caught and ran with the ball. Jamie watched Tom as Ollie laid out his two ideas and a third, even better one he hadn't mentioned in the car. They spent an hour working up a communications plan. Ollie got Tom to come up with a list of who should sit on the board of inquiry and even sat next to the minister as Tom called the individuals to get their commitment. Jamie could tell the moment when Tom went from a guilty, impotent wreck of a minister to a hopeful, energised man with a plan.

 _Okay, Malcolm. You fucking win._

Back in the car on the way to the PFI building, Ollie seemed all puffed up with his success with Tom. Jamie resisted the almost overwhelming desire to take him down a peg. Instead, he gave Ollie the low-down on the meet the new ministers press lunch. When Jamie shared the press list he saw that flicker of confidence fade. _Oh shit. That's right._ Ollie had leaked Malcolm's collapse to _The Guardian_ , _The Mirror_ and _The Daily Mail_ , and some or all of those editors would be in attendance, along with journalists and cameramen.

"Look, mate, it's no secret you fucked up last week. I imagine it's going to be pretty uncomfortable for you. Tell me now. Are you up for this?" Ollie didn't make eye contact, and took a few moments to answer.

"I dunno. Guess I don't see an alternative. Unless I could sit this one out? Go hang out in DoSAC?"

Nope. No way. Jamie tried to channel his inner Malcolm.

"Look, Ollie, growing up in public is a bitch. You did some admittedly shitty things last week. I mean, you basically shat all over Malcolm, and the press pack and yourself, and then I had to walk through it and got it all over my fucking loafers. Now you're out in public with a dirty nappie. But _it's temporary_. You'll have their attention for just a few short moments, and then they'll be all about the new ministers. Or that's how it could work out if you play your cards right. How are you going to handle it?"

 _Thank you, Malcolm_. No way Jamie could have done this if he hadn't been the recipient of similar pep talks from the old bastard.

The look of unguarded vulnerability he saw on Ollie's face generated a strong flash of something in Jamie's chest. Maybe it was empathy. For sure Jamie had been almost exactly where Ollie was not all too long ago. The circumstances leading up to it were completely different, but the situation was the same.

"Look, I'm there with you. I'm not going to turn on you and throw you to the wolves. Just…be honest. Maybe even find a way to laugh at yourself. If you can do that, then you've taken away any ammo they have. You've basically knackered them."

Ollie smiled weakly at that. Jamie thought the smile looked more nauseous than humourous.

As they got out of the car in front of the PFI building Jamie thought he heard Reeder whisper to himself, "It's temporary."

* * *

They arrived thirty minutes early by design so Jamie could check in on the new ministers and make sure they were all buttoned up and not about to spew, screw or poo in public and also hobnob with the press and get a read on the mood.

They made quick rounds to the junior ministers' offices, which were all conveniently located in the PFI building. This grouping was not by design. Several departments had recently moved from other government buildings that were bursting at the seams.

Jamie introduced Ollie all round and spent a few minutes with each newbie, making sure they knew their lines and were ready to meet the press. Everyone checked in okay, though Jamie knew from experience that things could always go south in a live event like this one. With twenty minutes to spare, Jamie headed to the event, where the press pack was already gathered.

The event was in the largest conference room in the PFI building in order to accommodate the fifty or so members of the press in attendance and the new ministers and their advisers. The room was well turned out with linen-covered round tables and a panel-style long table up front for the new ministers. One side of the room was cleared of furniture for the broadcast journalists, cameramen and audio equipment.

Jamie strode into the room with Ollie following close behind him like a fart. He knew Reeder was nervous, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Jamie – Ollie. How's it going?" Angela Heaney approached. Of all the press in the room, Angela was likely the least intimidating to Ollie at the moment. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Good, Angela. And you?"

"Fine. Looking forward to this. Are you here with Nicola?"

"Nae, he's with me today. Special assignment." Ollie's shoulders went back and his head came up. _Alright, you twat. Don't get too self-important._

Angela smiled. Ollie glowed. Jamie wondered how over things really were between the two of them, even with Ollie shagging Emma Messenger.

"How nice. I better go check in and get ready. See you later." Angela departed. Jamie grinned inwardly. That couldn't have gone better than if he'd arranged it. Ollie seemed much more relaxed. And truthfully, maybe it wouldn't be too bad for him. As much as Jamie wanted to pound him for what he did to Malcolm, the little fucker was starting to grow on him.

It was when Jamie's back was turned that things got real. He was approached by George Alagia, who was on camera for BBC. Jamie answered a few questions about his perspective on the new incumbents, offering a few carefully prepared sound bites.

When he cut off the questions and stepped off camera, that's when he saw that Ollie appeared to be in intense conversation with none other than Steve Fleming, former Party Whip and enforcer. The always angry timbre of Steve's voice carried over the ambient noise in the room. Jamie pushed through the crowd, but by the time he reached Ollie, Fleming was gone. Ollie stood staring after him, looking just as pale, pasty and sweaty as he did in the car on the way to Transport.

"What the fuck was that about?" Ollie didn't answer. Instead, he bee-lined it out of the room. Jamie was torn between being there for the ministers, as the press event was about to start, and going after Ollie, who was obviously in some distress. Trusting his gut and knowing he could do damage control on any unfortunate new minister fuckups, Jamie hastened after the junior adviser, who was disappearing into the men's room.

The sound of retching made Jamie's stomach turn. He grimaced and breathed deeply, trying not to vomit himself. He was a sympathetic puker. Soon enough it was over. Ollie emerged from the stall, even whiter than he was before. Jamie looked for feet under any of the stall doors while Ollie rinsed his face in the sink and rinsed his mouth out. Good. They were alone.

"Ollie, what happened? What did that Fleming twat say to you?" Ollie didn't make eye contact. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and trembly.

"I'm…basically I'm fucked. Malcolm is going to kill me. This is the end." Jamie didn't press further, waiting for Ollie to fill him in. Those pregnant pauses Malcolm was so fond of really did work.

"Marianne wasn't the only person I sent those articles to. I also gave them to Steve Fleming."

Jamie felt his stomach drop down to his ankles.

"You didn't. Fucking tell me you didn't." Ollie cringed. Jamie breathed and tried to collect himself.

"It was the same day I sent them to Marianne. I would have mentioned it yesterday, but I really thought he wasn't going to do anything with them. But then I tried to get them back. I left a bunch of messages and texts, but he wouldn't call me back. So when I saw him here I figured this was my best chance."

"And what did he say?"

"Basically told me to fuck off. Said they were his now. He thanked me for the intel. Christ. Malcolm is going to _kill_ me."

"Of all the people you could have given those articles to, why him, Ollie? Why Steve Fleming?"

"Because they _hate_ each other. Have you _seen_ them together? It's like a blood sport. I know Steve used to work for Malcolm and he got sacked or resigned." _You don't know the half of it_ , Jamie thought.

"He was invited to resign." Ollie nodded. He'd probably guessed that much. There was no way Reeder would know how bad this was for Malcolm. Steve Fleming was one crazy fuck. One crazy, vindictive fuck.

"Now he's looking for some serious payback. Said he was going to take Malcolm down. Jamie, what am I going to do?"

"You've got to tell Malc. As soon as this fucking circle jerk is over you need to call him."

"Couldn't you…"

"No way Jose. This one's not my abortion, it's yours. It's time to man up, Ollie. That's what Malc was trying to tell you. Now's your first chance to show him you mean business."

The men's room door swung open and two office workers came in, ending any further conversation.

Mid-way through the press event, Jamie sent Malcolm a quick text while Ollie wasn't looking.

 **JAMIE:** Heads up. Ollie's going to call. Don't kill him. He tried to fix it.

 **MALCOLM:** ?

 **JAMIE:** TTYL


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's Note:**

This was another tough one to write. A lot of poo is hitting the fan for our hero. I will keep the chapters coming. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Malcolm sat at the kitchen table, his Blackberry near his left hand and a notepad and pen by his right. He had the cannula on in preparation for this next call, even though he could now go four hours, probably longer, without the oxygen. He hoped that when he saw Doctor Ravi this Friday he'd be told he could dispense with it altogether. But for now, better to play it safe.

After a lot of prompting, Sam finally left for her writer's group. The last two weeks had been so chaotic with his collapse, subsequent stay in hospital and convalescence at home, that their routine was completely off. Malc just wanted Sam to have a chance for some social time and a way to start stepping back into normalcy.

His ulterior motive was to have her out of the house when he made this phone call.

If asked this morning, Malcolm would have said he was soon to join Sam in easing back into regular life. He was definitely on the mend. Physically, he felt better than he had in months. Recently, he'd wobbled a bit with the unexpected reentrance of his childhood, thanks to Ollie, but he thought he was on the backside of that. Only now…

Reeder had rung about an hour after Jamie's text. Prepared for bad news thanks to Jamie's heads up, Malcolm did his best not to eviscerate the junior adviser when he choked out what he'd done. He still had a strong reaction in the moment, and his words were sharper than he wanted them to be.

The little twerp had gone and done the worst possible thing. Of all the people he could have given those articles to, he somehow managed to give them to the one person who could use them to get Malcolm out of Number Ten, possibly for good.

Sam heard his raised voice and came into the living room and sat next to him on the sofa as he wrapped up the call with Reeder. His heart was pounding and he could feel that his cheeks were flushed with anger. Sam cupped his cheek, her brown eyes full of concern.

"Malc, what is it? Who was that?"

And Malcolm did something he hated to do. He lied to his wife.

He somehow managed a careless laugh. "Oh, it was just Ollie, being a twat. We've got it sorted. I shouldna let him get under my skin like that, but he wears on you, you know?"

She didn't look like she bought it. Not fully. But she didn't press him on it. They made dinner together and she left for writer's group as he finished up the dishes. Now here he was, about to call Steve Fucking Fleming.

No time like the present. Malcolm picked up the Blackberry, found Steve in his contacts, and pressed the call button. It only rang twice. The bastard was probably waiting for his call, knowing Ollie would probably go running to him.

"Malcolm, how are you doing? On the mend? What was it, again – pneumonia? I'd heard something about TB, but that's not true, right?"

"Steve, you're funny as ever." Malcolm deadpanned. "You know why I'm calling."

Steve dropped the disingenuous banter. "You can't unring the bell, Malc. That Reeder really can't get out of his own way. It was quite a windfall for me. You really should treat people better, Malc. This is of your own making."

"Why do you even think I care about it? It's worthless info. Old news."

"But it isn't, Malc, or you wouldn't be calling. How fascinating! I had to read through everything twice. Heartbreaking, really. This young boy, abused for years by his father. Then he loses his youngest brother. How sad. No wonder you attacked your father. You probably knew right off that he'd killed him, didn't you?"

Malcolm was quiet. He was seething.

"I bet you blame yourself for his death. If it was me, I would. I mean, you could have prevented it. Why didn't you go to the police, Malc? Or tell the counsellor at school?"

In typical fashion, Fleming had found his buttons and was pressing them. Malcolm knew what he was doing, but still his eyes filled with tears and his throat closed up. He breathed, trying to get a grip. _Don't let the bastard win._

"You don't know anything about it, Fleming. You're way off." Malcolm didn't sound very convincing and he knew it. Calling was a bad idea.

"What I really want to know, though, is what he did to you. He did more than just beat you, for sure. Tell me, Malc, did he make you suck his cock?" An angry tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. Malcolm wiped it away absently.

"How many times? Or did he touch you? I'm just curious, because it explains a lot."

"Again, you're way off. You've lost your touch, Fleming. You're nothing but a washed up back bench tosser."

"Interesting choice of words. What do you think I'm going to do with all this great background material? I'm still trying to decide. I could go to the press. Not _The Tattler_ , something more reputable. But first, I think I'd better give the PM a heads up that he's got a liability on his executive staff."

"Good luck with that. You've got nothing, Fleming. And the PM knows you're a fucking crank."

"Oh, I think there are a number of angles I could work. Certainly the sex abuse angle. I'm looking into statistics about paedophiles. I've heard that most convicted child molesters were sexually abused themselves. It's a skill that gets passed on. Why didn't you and Sam have kids, Malc?"

"Fuck you. I'm not taking this seriously."

"Oh, you'd better. We both know how sensitive the PM is to appearances. And you know I'm going to follow through with this, Malc. Remember Roth?"

"I do, Steve. Do _you_? You _fucking_ _killed_ him, so you should. You're not doing anything like that to me. You've got nothing, and if you try anything, I will take you apart. There will be nothing left but a grease stain where you once stood. Now fuck off back to whatever rock you crawled out from under."

Malcolm hit the End button and then threw his Blackberry across the kitchen as hard as he could. It hit the wall hard and fell to the floor. The plastic back of the battery compartment broke off. The screen now sported an impressive network of cracks. _Shouldna have called the bastard. Now I'm really fucked._

* * *

 **MALCOLM:** We need to talk.

 **JULIUS:** Tomorrow okay?

 **MALCOLM:** Tonight would be better. Fleming resurfaced. Has intel.

When Sam got home she was surprised to find Julius' BMW in the driveway. The lights were on in the living room and she could see two silhouettes through the window.

"Julius, what a surprise! I didn't know you were coming over." The PM's adviser was just rising to leave. The tea tray was on the table with two used mugs. He must have come over shortly after Sam left.

"I was just heading out, Sam. Malc let me have some of your nice Earl Grey." He gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek. "Good to see you. Malcolm, I will call you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Julius, I appreciate it."

When Nicholson was gone Sam dropped the pleasantries.

"Malc, what are you up to? I knew there was something going on with that phone call and the way you practically pushed me out of the house. What is it?"

He didn't answer or meet her gaze. Something was definitely on his mind, and it wasn't good. _Shit. What now?_ She sighed and sat on the arm of the wing-backed chair. He took her hand.

"Ollie gave those _Glasgow Daily_ articles to Steve Fleming."

" _What?_ He didn't! He couldn't have. Does he even know-"

"All he needed to know was that Steve and I have history. He wanted to hit me where it counts. Ollie tried to get them back, but there's no way Fleming would pass up such a wealth of information."

"You called Steve, didn't you?" Malcolm nodded. He still hadn't made eye contact. Sam thought he looked tired and dejected.

"He's going to use it to try to get me out of Number Ten. And he'll really do it." Sam moved over to his lap and hugged him. He pressed his cheek into her hair, drawing energy from the contact.

"Is that why Julius was here?"

"I asked him over. Talked through every angle Fleming could take with this. Some of them are pretty bad. Nicholson's going to go to the PM before Steve has a chance. I need to talk to Jamie about it in the morning." Malcolm sighed. Sam's heart was heavy for him. She squeezed him tighter.

"You've got a lot of people pulling for you, you know. Steve doesn't know what he's up against."

* * *

Sam joined them in the living room after breakfast on Wednesday morning. She steered Malcolm to the sofa and sat close to him, holding his hand.

The old bastard looked pale and tired this morning. Jamie wondered if he'd gotten any sleep at all. Jamie was happy to see that he was off the oxygen, though the IV stand was still in evidence.

"So, Ollie called you." Jamie knew he did, because he'd dumped the little twat off in Malcolm's office for that express purpose. That way, he could be sure the call wasn't overheard, creating potentially more wreckage. He had almost stayed to listen in on Ollie's side, but decided it would be better if he left. That way, Ollie really had to handle it on his own. Jamie came back fifteen minutes later and Ollie was off the call. He'd looked like someone had just run over his dog, so Jamie surmised Malcolm's reaction was a strong one.

"Yes, he did. I'll need to do some damage control later. I was sharp with him. Canna do it now, though."

"So, what's next?"

"I called Fleming last night. He's going to the PM and probably the press. He sees this as his chance to get me sacked and get back into Number Ten."

"You have a plan."

"Yes, I do. Julius is going to get ahead of it with the PM. I'll need your help getting some favourable press attention, but not just yet. First, I have to fill you in on a few more things. And then I need to go to the police."

"The police? Surely Fleming hasna done anything worthy of that."

"No, it's not about Fleming. It's about something I witnessed when I was a kid."


	42. Chapter 42

**Author's Note:**

Here is a longish chapter for your weekend entertainment. It took a while to find the red thread through this next section. I'm no spin doctor, that's for sure, though hopefully I've provided a reasonably plausible conflict situation, given what's in the story to date. If not, I hope you can suspend your disbelief enough to make it through the next few chapters, when we'll return to the main storyline. Reviews inspire this author!

* * *

"Fleming said he's going to go to the PM first. He's working on a paedophile angle."

Jamie blinked. He didn't see that coming. "He's going to claim you're a paedophile? Based on what evidence?"

"He doesna need evidence. You know the PM. Man's not very popular with his favourite cronies right now, in case you havena noticed. They're all questioning his reliability for bringing in a more liberal slate. The last thing he needs is any appearance of scandal on his executive team. All Fleming needs to do is set things up and then let the PM follow a certain causal chain to reach the desired conclusion."

"Malc, I don't get it." Malcolm's face registered impatience. Jamie reminded himself that the old bastard was tired, still recovering from pneumonia and under a lot of stress.

"The _Glasow Daily_ post-trial coverage. C'mon, Jamie, you're not an idiot. You saw it."

"The article mentioned there was suspicion of sexual abuse but there wasna sufficient evidence to pursue it." Jamie really wanted to ask Malcolm whether or not there was any sexual abuse, but resisted the impulse.

"I still don't see it, Malc. How would Fleming use that with the PM? If he tried, he'd only demonstrate his lack of empathy and tendency to be an arsehole."

"You didna really get a chance to experience Steve's capabilities in action. You were just coming on board when he was on his way out. He may be a total whack job, but he's also a first class spin doctor. Here's how it could work.

"Fleming would go to the PM like a concerned friend. 'I just received some information about Malcolm. The poor bugger!' Then he'd recap the more hideous details of the trial coverage, and then he'd point to the part of the write-up that talks about the child porn and possibility of sexual abuse. Maybe he'd have the PM read that bit of the article while he stood by.

"Then he'd mention he's heard that most paedophiles were sexually abused themselves. He'll finish it off by expressing his heartfelt concern for me and close with something like 'I hope this doesn't effect Malcolm's credibility too much with the press. I imagine there will be quite a bit of swirl to work through…' and so on. And then he'd leave. And wait for the PM to mull all that over and decide he canna risk having an enforcer that might be perceived as a paedophile."

"That's _not_ going to happen, Malc. Julius is getting with the PM first thing this morning."

"I know he is, Sam. I'm just saying that's what Steve wants to do. If the PM gives him any time and chooses to meet with him alone, he could still potentially be swayed."

"What can we do to discredit Fleming more than he already is? Surely you've got something, Malc." Malcolm was right, Jaime had never worked with the fucker himself, and had only met him on a handful of occasions. He'd witnessed a dramatic falling out between Malc and Fleming just days before Steve left office.

"Well other than that he's a drunken psychotic rage-a-holic megalomaniac wanker, I've got nothing. Used up all my leverage to get him out of Number Ten after Roth. Julius is going to remind the PM about all of that. Hopefully, it will be enough."

Silence descended as each pursued his or her own thoughts. Jamie finally broke the silence.

"So now tell me what it is you have to go to the police for."

The old bastard looked over to Sam, who nodded and squeezed his hand. He took a deep breath and sat forward on the sofa. He did not make eye contact with Jamie. Sam rubbed his back soothingly.

"When I was a kid we lived in an apartment building in Maryhill. There was this other family who lived upstairs from us. They had a son who went missing when he was two and was never found. I'm pretty sure I saw my father kill him."

It took a while for Jamie to process that. Malcolm waited.

"You saw your father murder a kid?" Jesus. This just got worse and worse.

"Yes. I never told anyone. Until yesterday I had no plans to come forward, but now with Steve in the mix, there's a good chance my whole past is going to come out. I'd rather have some control over how it happens.

"Sam and I think the best way to do it is to go to the police and report what I saw. I'm not sure how that whole process works, or when or how the media would get wind of it. I'm thinking it would be good to have already spoken to some friendly press. Give them an exclusive under the stipulation that they don't release the story until we tell them to."

"Are you thinking _The Guardian_ for the exclusive?" Malcolm nodded.

"Yes. Could you reach out to Geoffrey and arrange it?" Jamie cringed inside, thinking about his last exchange with Geoffrey. Maybe giving _The Guardian_ the exclusive would help to repair their relationship.

"Sure thing. I bet he'd put Marianne on it. Makes sense, since she's already got the background. I will do some research on the police thing and circle back."

Jamie also hoped to dig up some really stinky dirt on Fleming if he could find any, but he knew if he mentioned it Malcolm would tell him not to go overboard. Right now, Jamie had _every_ intention of going overboard. But he cautioned himself not to go so far that it came back on Malcolm.

"Great. Thanks, Jamie." The enforcer looked relieved, but still pale, tired and downcast.

"Is there anything else I should know about?"

Malcolm remained quiet until Sam squeezed his hand again.

"Tell him, Malc."

"Okay, Luv." Malcolm turned back to Jamie. Thin color rose in his cheeks. His eyes stayed fastened on the surface of the table. His voice was very quiet.

"During all of this there will likely be speculation about whether or not I was sexually abused by my father. You're probably wondering that yourself. The truth is, I don't know. If anything like that happened, it would have been when I was very young. I just canna remember. At any rate, it's nobody's business, and I'll need you to help deflect that kind of speculation."

Jamie had to clear his throat before he answered. "Course I will, Malc." That was about all he could manage.

"One last thing. This probably won't become a media issue, but you ought to know just in case. I think I mentioned that I'm going to have a biopsy on some scar tissue in my lungs. Well, the scar tissue was caused by something my father did to me when I was six."

* * *

"I think it would be better if you came to Mister Tucker's home. He's still convalescing from pneumonia, and traveling is difficult. Thanks for your consideration, Chief Inspector. Yes, that's the correct address. Four o'clock today works well. Okay, I will tell him. Thanks much."

Jamie disconnected with the Detective Chief Inspector of the Met's Criminal Investigation Department and speed dialed Malcolm's home number. Malc's Blackberry was on the fritz, and the new one wouldn't be ready until Thursday. Sam picked up.

"Hello Jamie. What's the news?"

"Hi Sam. Just got off the phone with a Met CID Detective Chief Inspector. He has the background and already did some initial outreach to Glasgow. Malc has a four o'clock appointment this afternoon to talk to him. His name is Philip Peel. He's going to come to you."

"That was quick, but I guess that's what we wanted. Thanks for setting it up, Jamie." Jamie heard a screen door open and shut and imagined that Sam had gone out to the patio in the back of the house.

"How's he doing?"

"Pretty tired, I think, but okay, all things considered. He's still with Geoffrey and Marianne now. They've been at it for two hours."

"Did you sit in on any of it?" Sam sighed.

"Yes, most of it. They've been very considerate. I think they have an idea of how difficult this is for him. And Geoffrey worked under Malcolm before Malc left the press corps."

"That's good to hear. You and Malc have approval rights over the article, and we'll work with them on the timing of the release once Malcolm's met with the inspector and we know more about what happens next. We have total control over this, Sam. It's going to come out okay." She didn't answer right away. When she did, Jamie heard the quiver of emotion in her voice.

"Jamie, this is so hard on him. It's just all suddenly happening at once. And it's triggering a lot of bad memories. I'm very worried about him. After he told me about the Clatcher boy I wanted him to come forward. Give the parents some closure. Maybe get some closure for himself. But then the articles surfaced, and now Steve Fleming's surfaced, and it's all too much. He's having really bad nightmares, and he's not getting enough sleep. He's supposed to gain a stone before his biopsy, but he can hardly eat."

Jamie cringed. What Sam was saying only confirmed Jamie's worst fears for Malcolm. After this morning's revelations, Jamie wanted to do everything he could do to protect his friend.

Jamie still couldn't think overly long about what happened to Malcolm when he was six. Every time he thought of it he couldn't help but visualise the shed as Malcolm described it, only it was Morgan restrained on the floor instead of Malcolm. Although Jamie had given up drinking two years ago he found himself with an almost overwhelming craving for scotch. Anything to blot out the horror. But he knew he wouldn't follow through on it. He had to be there for Malc, and he couldn't do that if he went off on a bender.

"Sam, is he seeing anybody?"

"You mean like a counsellor? Not yet, but we've got an appointment for Friday. Please don't mention it to him. It took a lot for him to finally agree to see one."

"Of course not. I'm glad he's going. Can't imagine how he's managed all these years." Hell, Jamie couldn't imagine how Malcolm was still _alive_ after a childhood like that.

"And how are you doing, Sam?" That earned him another teary sigh.

"Thanks so much for asking, Jamie. I'm okay. Just really sad and scared for Malcolm. I wish I could just take him away somewhere until everything blows over. Seriously. I was looking online at vacation packages in the Virgin Islands."

"Why not? Might be good for him to get away, get his health back."

"But he's got the biopsy, and we don't know what happens after that. And then there's Number Ten. I know he'd go crazy being away and having no control over how this comes out."

"I know it's hard for both of you right now. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help. You know I'd do anything for you and Malc."

"That's sweet, Jamie. You're already doing it. Thanks so much for everything."

Jamie promised to call Malcolm later after the police appointment and then disconnected. He checked the time on his Blackberry. 13:00 already. Time to check in with Ollie about his special project.


	43. Chapter 43

**Author's Note:**

This is a short one to tide you over while I do some research for upcoming chapters. If all goes well, you will see one by the end of the week. It's been quiet, and reviews are fuel for this author; I'd love to hear from you.

* * *

Jamie took the long way round the DoSAC open office space in order to get to Nicola's office without passing Ollie's desk. He wanted to check in with the minister to see how it was going but didn't want Ollie to jump to the conclusion that Jamie was reporting in to Nicola about him. He shouldn't have bothered, though, because it turned out that Ollie was in Nicola's office. He greeted them both.

"Jamie! I'm glad you're here. Ollie and I were just wrapping up, and I'd like to get your thoughts on these two possible approaches to the immigration policy. Ollie, walk us through it, please."

Ollie dutifully explained the two proposed approaches, which, it turned out, were both from him and were good solid work. Jamie gave his input, pleased to see that the Ollie who had surprisingly turned up at Transpo the day before seemed to have resurfaced here at DoSAC.

"Great. Then I'll just go get this written up and you'll have it for the next meeting. I 'll work with Terri on the comms." The junior adviser stood and headed toward the door.

"Don't go too far, okay? I want to check in with you before I go. Just want to get caught up with Nicola first."

"Right. Okay. See you."

After the door closed behind Reeder Nicola leaned over the desk, and eager smile on her face.

"Did you see that? He's been like that all day. Just… _on_ it. I don't know what you and Malcolm said to him, but it sure lit a fire under his arse."

"Malcolm talked to you about sharing him with Tom in Transport?" The minister nodded.

"Yes, and I'm fine with it if he keeps showing up like he did today. We'll work out the payroll logistics, but I think it's fine."

"Great, thanks, Nicola. And it's not forever, just for the short-term until Tom can get his new staff in place." Tom had sacked most of his staff as a result of the cabbie renewals cock-up.

"Aside from the change in Ollie, how are things going?"

Nicola filled Jamie in on current initiatives and they discussed a possible press event to launch the new immigration policy to get ahead of a report of immigration figures. Malcolm had stipulated that any press events with Nicola be time delayed, and that Jamie be present.

"So, how's Malcolm?" Nicola seemed sincere in her concern. She was another one who seemed to have undergone an evolutionary change recently. Jamie wasn't sure why.

"He's on the mend. A little better every day." _Other than the fact that his life is coming apart_ , Jamie thought. "He goes back to the doctor on Friday. Hopefully he'll be back in the office soon."

"I hope Sam keeps an eye out an eye and makes sure he doesn't work too much. I'm still getting daily calls and emails from him, so I know he's working."

"Right. Well, I'm sure he just wants to stay in the loop so he doesn't have too much to catch up on once he's back." Jamie stood to go.

"I'm going to grab Ollie for a few minutes on my way out about a Transport thing, okay?"

Back in the open office space, Jamie strode past Reeder's desk and signalled for the junior adviser to follow him. They exited the DoSAC office area and took the lift down to the main floor. Jamie spied a small vacant conference room and commandeered it, pulling the door shut once Ollie had entered.

"This feels very covert, Jamie. You're not going to, like, beat me, are you?"

"Nae, not today, anyway." It felt good that they could share humor like that, considering how close Jamie had come to pounding him to whale shit the week before. "Got a special assignment for you."

"In addition to the Transpo thing?"

"Yeah, but it's just a little one-off. I think you'll be perfect for it."

Ollie was all ears.

"I'd like you to dig up some dirt on Steve Fleming."


	44. Chapter 44

**Author's Note:**

This is quite a long chapter – there just wasn't a nice logical break. Malc and Sam meet with the CID Detective Chief Inspector. There are mentions of child abuse in this one similarly to what's in chapter 20. It's Wednesday afternoon in Reshuffle land. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Malcolm watched through the bedroom window as Sam met the CID Detective Chief Inspector at the door. As a plainclothesman, he arrived at the Tucker residence well turned out in dress slacks, tie and jacket. Even though his clothes wouldn't go amiss in Westminster, his stiff gait and erect bearing gave away a role in either the military or law enforcement.

When Malcolm came out of the bedroom he found the man seated at the kitchen table, in the process of starting up a laptop. Sam brought over the coffee things and sat down as Malcolm joined them, trundling the IV stand and oxygen on his left. The Chief Inspector stood to greet him.

"Mister Tucker. Glad to meet you. I'm Detective Chief Inspector Phillip Peel." Malcolm shook his hand.

"Thanks for coming to us, Chief Inspector. Haven't been out of the house since I left hospital. Too much of a fucking headache trying to manage all this sodding medical gear in a car."

"No trouble at all. I knew from the papers that you were in hospital. I hope you are on the mend."

Peel didn't bat an eye at the profanity. Malcolm often used profanity with people he'd just met to test their reaction. If Peel had looked surprised or taken offense, then Malcolm would have a more difficult time trusting him. The fact that he didn't even flinch gave Malcolm hope that Peel might be more authentic than some of the OxBridge cunts who were starting to crop up in high places in The Met.

Peel was reading something on his laptop, tilting his head in such a way that Malcolm surmised he usually used spectacles but didn't have them today.

"So I understand from Mister McDonald that you believe you witnessed a murder in Glasgow back in 1967. Based on what he told me, I checked in with Police Strathclyde and got some of the background information into the disappearance of the boy, Colin Clatcher, and also details of your father's case."

The man was resourceful, if nothing else. Malcolm silently thanked Jamie for setting this up and possibly saving him having to recapitulate everything ad nauseum, though he imagined he'd be deep in the details before they were through no matter how much background Jamie provided.

"Police Strathclyde is the primary. Normally, The Met wouldn't get involved in a case of theirs, but given your role in English government, my counterpart in Glasgow and I discussed it and agreed that I would run point with you and act as a liaison. Hopefully this will make things a little easier for you if this becomes an active investigation.

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to run through what I have and confirm it. I will have questions for you along the way, but will try not to grill you too much. From there, we'll talk about next steps. Do you have any questions for me before we get started?"

Malcolm reflexively shook his head "no," but Sam spoke up.

"How much time do you think this will take today? We're happy to help, but Malcolm is still recovering and has already had a long day."

Malcolm was a little embarrassed that Sam was so candid with the Chief Inspector, but also appreciated the lifeline. It _had_ been a long day, and he was running on very little sleep. He'd had another nasty nightmare the night before. Sam risked getting punched to wake him up before he could dislodge his IV port again. After that he was up for the night, convinced he'd only have more nightmares if he went back to sleep. Hopefully when he saw the counsellor on Friday he'd come away with some techniques he could use to prevent them. Sleeping pills were out of the question.

"We'll set a clock on it then. I think we can get through everything easily in one hour. Mister Tucker, if you find you need to stop sooner, just say so. Your health is more important than getting through it all in one go."

"Thanks, Detective Chief Inspector."

"You can call me Peel. No need to stand on titles."

"Thanks, Peel. It's Malcolm."

Pleasantries completed, Peel moved into the business of the conversation. Malcolm checked his oxygen saturation. 100%. Good.

"I understand from the original police report that Colin Clatcher went missing on the morning of 24 July. His mother reported it to the Maryhill police straight away. The conducted a neighborhood search and didn't find the boy. After that, they expanded the search and got other law enforcement involved."

"Now, I understand from Mister McDonald that you witnessed your father with the Clatcher child together on that same day."

Malcolm cleared his throat. "Yes, that's correct."

"About what time was that?" Malcolm cast his mind back.

"Let's see. It was summer, and I was on hols. I saw my father leave the property. I thought he'd walked up to the market for some fags. It was late morning. I'd say around ten."

Peel typed. "That's very good. That's the kind of detail we're looking for." He stopped typing and made eye contact with Malcolm.

"Now, this might be difficult. I'd like you to walk me through what happened with your dad. Take your time. Give me all the detail you can. I may ask questions along the way. And again, at any time, if you're feeling tired or want to stop, just tell me."

Sam clasped his hand under the table. Malcolm took a deep breath and began.

"I was eight at the time, but I think I need to back up. The reason I saw what my father did with Colin that day was because I'd been having recurring nightmares about something that happened when I was six. They came every night." Sort of like right now.

Peel's hands paused over the keyboard. "Do you want to tell me about what happened when you were six?"

"Not really, no, but it might be good to know. You said you've read the background on my father's case?"

"Yes."

"I will give you the high-level and you let me know if you need to know more."

Sam squeezed Malcolm's hand and he squeezed back. So good to have her here for this.

"It would have been summer of 1965. I was helping my Da fix the car when he suddenly pushed me down and started kicking me. I woke up in a shed next to the apartment building that he used as a workroom. I was bound up on the floor of the shed and I was alone. There was strong smell of bleach. He'd left a large canister of industrial-strength chlorine open and I was breathing in the fumes.

"I was in there most of the day – about six hours, I think, but I don't really know. Finally he unlocked the door, came in and unbound me, and left." Malcolm glanced over to the sat monitor. 95%. Pretty good, considering how fast his heart was racing. It was still incredibly hard to talk about this stuff.

"So, as I mentioned before, after what happened when I was six I started having recurring nightmares to the point where I wasn't sure if it really happened or if it was just a dream. The summer when I was eight I decided to go back into the shed to try to find something that could help me know, one way or the other. I thought if I knew it might make the nightmares go away."

"I'm sorry to hear you had to go through that. I saw from the investigation report that there was a lot of evidence of abuse, but I don't think that incident was included in the report."

"No, it wouldna have been. I never told anyone until just recently." The clock ticked. Peel typed some notes.

"I'm pretty sure we'll want to know more about that incident later, but right now that's enough for me to understand why you went into the shed the day Colin disappeared. So let's go back to that day."

Malcolm sat back, organizing his memories, trying to think of what would be most helpful to Peel.

"It was a Monday. I saw my Dad leave the shed and head off in the direction of the market."

"Where were you when you saw him walking away?"

"I was in the bedroom I shared with my sister, Julia, looking out the window."

"If I showed you a map, would you be able to show me which direction he went?"

"Yes."

"Great. Okay. So you saw your dad walk away. What happened next?"

"I went out to the shed."

"Let's talk about the shed itself for a minute." Peel scrolled through a document on his laptop.

"I see from the investigation report related to your father's arrest that the shed was a 10'X8' aluminium outhouse situated on the west side of the property."

Peel moved his laptop so Malcolm and Sam could see the screen, which showed a faded color image of the shed. Malcolm's stomach did a slow roll. His mouth was suddenly dry. It was one of the pictures included in the _Glasgow Daily_ coverage of the trial, but in the newspaper it was a grainy gray-scale image. Seeing it in color brought back a lot of memories.

"Yes, that's it."

"I see in the picture that it had a latch on the door with a padlock. Was it always locked up? Was it locked up that day?"

"If my Da wasna in it, it was locked up. He kept a lot of cleaning agents in there. He was a caretaker. Now I remember that he'd been out there that morning and then left for the market. He left the lock off. I assumed it was because he just stepped out to get some fags, and he'd be back. I'd been watching for an opportunity like that because it usually was locked up tight."

"So you went into the shed. Describe the inside of it for me."

"The floor was dirt. The front of it was set up as a work area. There was a big worktable with pegboard above it holding tools. The worktable itself was tall enough that an adult could work standing up at it. There was shelving on either side of the worktable that held his cleaning supplies. There were some old crates and suitcases stacked up against the back wall."

"Once you were in there, what did you do?"

"I basically had a look around. I hadna been there since the incident when I was six. I checked the rack of cleaning supplies and found the large canister of chlorine, just like I remembered it. I opened it up and the smell came out, and it was like I was six years old again and bound up on the floor."

"So you had a flashback."

"I suppose so. At any rate, now I knew it wasna just a dream and that it really happened."

"Tell me about the chlorine canister. About how big was it?" Malcolm thought a moment.

"That's hard to say. You know when you're a kid everything looks bigger. It was definitely too large for me to lift. I think even a grown man would use a dolly or a cart to move it. I'd say it was about the size of two five-gallon paint buckets stacked one on top of the other. There was a spigot on the bottom and a lid on the top."

"We may have photographs of it in the investigation file. I'll have a look later. What did you do next?"

"I wanted to get out of there right away, but I decided to look around some more. Sort of prove to myself that I was stronger than the nightmare. I noticed a box of magazines under the worktable and looked through them. They were pornography. Some was the typical stuff, girly magazines. But a lot of it was kiddie porn. Magazines with small boys. I was only eight, so I didna really understand what any of it was. Now that I'm an adult, I know it was pretty horrible stuff."

"So I was looking through that when I heard my father coming back. I didna have time to get away. I crawled under the worktable and pulled a bin and the cardboard box in front of me.

"He was carrying Colin Clatcher. Colin looked like he was asleep. Da walked up to the table, so I couldna see what he was doing, but it sounded like he set Colin down on the table. He stood there for a while, in front of the table. I had the sense he was doing something up there, but I've no idea what. Then he got some things and set them down on the work surface. I heard some more sounds like he was doing something up there, but again I didna know what.

"What kind of sounds?" Malcolm closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the memory of the sounds, but finally he gave up. He was getting a headache.

"I just don't know. I wish I could tell you. It was a long time ago."

"No worries. Go on."

"Then Colin started screaming. My father yelled at him, but he kept screaming. Then I heard hitting. The table shook. Stuff fell off the table and my father kept hitting. That's when the blood spattered the wall.

"Gradually, it slowed down, and he stopped. My father was panting. He stood there a long time. Then he picked Colin up and left.

"I was scared to come out from under the table in case he came back, but finally I got up the guts to go peek out the door, and I saw Da walking towards the woods with Colin."

"What did you do then?"

"I ran off to the play yard at my school. I hung out there for a while and then just wandered the neighborhood until it was dark. Finally I went home."

Peel typed for a while, catching up with everything Malcolm had told him. Once he was done, he looked through his notes before turning back to Malcolm.

"Okay, so a few questions. You said you saw blood splatter the wall of the shed. Where exactly was the blood splatter?"

"It was on the wall to the left of the door, facing out."

"About how high up on the wall, would you say?"

"It was about the same height as the worktable, probably not quite a metre, but close." Peel typed.

"Now, you said your father carried Colin out and headed towards a strip of woods in back of the apartment. If I showed you a map or aereal photo of the property would you be able to show me the route he took?"

"Sure."

"Tell me more about those woods. Did you go back there much as a kid? What was back there?"

Malcolm thought back. "It was a thin strip of trees. I'd say they were about the length and width of a city block, but I don't really know. When I was younger it seemed very large."

"I used to go back there, but stopped after I saw my Da take Colin back there because I was afraid of what I'd find. There was some junk littered around in the woods. I remember some old tyres, cardboard boxes and assorted litter. There was an old rusted out car back there. The teenagers used it as a hangout. There were lots of empty pop bottles and beer bottles around and in it. Cigarette butts around it, too." Malcolm thought some more.

"When I was in the woods in the summer I couldna see our apartment through the leaves. It was quiet in there, too. You couldna hear road noise, so maybe the woods were wider than what I originally thought."

"Thanks. That detail really helps. The investigators went through the woods during the search after Colin's disappearance, but they didn't find anything. Let's keep going, but if you can remember anything else about the woods that might be helpful, please let me know."

"Sure." Malcolm hadn't thought about those woods in years. Before Colin, they were both a playground and a refuge for him. He looked at the clock. Only forty minutes in. _Fuck_. It felt like they'd been at it for hours.

"Let's talk about your dad a little. I know he was arrested in September of 1973 after the death of your brother, and convicted in November."

"That's right." Malcolm was definitely feeling weary now, but surely the worst of it was over.

"I already know he was abusive with you and your brother, Duncan, but by all reports not your sister. We also have one prior arrest for drinks driving and another for disorderly behavior and physical assault in a pub." Both arrests were news to Malcolm.

"I'd like to know more about how your father interacted with children. Particularly small boys Colin's age."

"I dunno what to tell you. I was a kid myself." Malcolm definitely had a headache now.

"Well, you lived in an apartment building and there were lots of kids about. Would you say children liked your father? Was he friendly toward them? Playful?"

"Nae he was nothing like that. Most of the time he ignored the kids in our building. And we never brought friends home." But Malcolm had a vague feeling there _was_ something about his father and the kids at the apartment. Maybe it would come to him later. Christ, he was tired.

Sam squeezed his knee under the table and leaned forward. "Chief Inspector, I think we need to wrap this up. It's been a really long day."

Peel stopped immediately, his eyes cut to Malcolm briefly before bouncing up to the kitchen clock. "Absolutely. You've been very helpful. Thank you so much for your time and for coming forward about this."

"So what happens next?" Sam asked.

"Well, I will look over what I've got so far and also share it with my counterpart in Glasgow. If it's not too much trouble, I would like to schedule another interview and bring a colleague from Police Strathclyde. Possibly for tomorrow, if you can fit us in. I can use some of that time to fill you in on what's going on and next steps."

They firmed up plans for another meeting and Sam saw the Chief Inspector to the door.


	45. Chapter 45

**Author's Note:**

This chapter closes out Wednesday. Thursday promises to be equally as busy for our hero. In the meantime, reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

"Hi Boss. Yes, Nicholson told me he'd spoken with you. Yes, that's right. It is unfortunate timing."

Sam couldn't help listening in to Malcolm's side of the conversation with the PM. Malcolm had tried to get rid of her but she insisted on staying with him for the call. He'd been through the wringer today, and really didn't have the energy to do even one more thing, but Julius was adamant that Malcolm should call the PM this evening.

They were in the kitchen. They'd started the call seated at the table, but when the PM picked up Malcolm automatically stood and started pacing. She recognised his expression as one he often had when at the office. It was almost like a different persona he wore. He looked serious and driven, like someone who knew what he wanted and would accept zero bullshit. People at work often called it his bollocking face.

"You can meet with him if you want, Boss, you're the fucking PM. Go ahead, if it will set your mind at ease. Just remember who you're meeting with."

Malcolm listened as the PM talked. Sam didn't like the sound of what she'd heard so far. But she knew Malcolm had a way of working with his boss that usually got him where he wanted to go. In her role as PA, it was rare when she really got to see Malcolm manage his boss.

"Do you remember Roth at all? Remember everything he did to get you where you are right now? Fleming tore him apart. He fucking dismanteled him right in front of both of us, and look how that turned out." Malcolm listened some more. The vein at his right temple was sticking out. She wished he'd sit down.

"Yes, and that's exactly what he's trying to do, but I'm not gonna let him. This is his pattern. It's what he does. He's like fucking Wormtongue, trying to fill your head with untruths to get back into Number Ten. Nae, do it, but be careful, Boss. Have Nicholson there, too, okay?"

The oxygen saturation monitor beeped. Sam stood and helped him get the cannula on without setting down the phone.

"I know it's not personal. I get it. It's for the best. I appreciate your concern. I will check in with Julius in the morning. Night, Boss."

Malcolm ended the call. Sam prised the handset away before it met the same fate as his Blackberry had after he talked to Fleming.

He plunked down into his chair at the table, rubbing the back of his neck. His expression was dark and turned inward.

"So he wants to meet with Steve." Sam sat across from him. Malcolm seemed to remember she was in the room and looked up.

"He wants to see what Fleming has to say. Says he wants to nip it in the bud."

"That sounds promising. Did he agree to include Julius?"

"Yes. I need to…" Malcolm reached instinctively for his Blackberry and then remembered it was gone. "Can I borrow your mobile to text Julius?"

"No, but if you go lie down I will call Julius. What should I tell him?" She could see the frustration on his face, but the dark shadows under his eyes were a higher priority. "Please, Malc. You're too tired for this right now."

He seemed to recognise he wouldn't win in this situation. Sam had her own bollocking face when she needed it.

Malcolm sighed. "Just tell him the PM wants to meet with the fucker but agreed to include him. Ask Nicholson to call me as soon as it's over." Sam leant over to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Go to bed. I will wake you for dinner. I love you, Malc." He still wasn't happy, but he hugged her back. "Love you, Sam."

* * *

"Julius, it's Sam." She could tell the PM's adviser was a little surprised at her call. He hesitated a moment before responding.

"Sam! How are you? How is Malcolm?" His tone was overly cheery, given the current situation.

"Not so good right now. He's having a lie-down. Long day. Listen, he asked me to ring you about the PM."

"Did Malc get a hold of him? What's the latest?"

"Yes, he did. The PM wants to meet with Fleming tomorrow. Malcolm got him to agree to include you."

"Okay. Not what we hoped for, but I can't say I'm surprised. I will reach out to Fleming right after we ring off and set it up."

"Julius, how worried should we be?"

"I wish I could tell you, Sam. The PM is under a lot of pressure about reshuffle. Certain constituents think he should make concessions for positioning purposes."

"Do you think he'd sacrifice Malcolm?"

"Well, you know the PM. He's got a good heart. When I filled him in this morning, his first reaction was concern for Malcolm. But he's also a politician. His very next question was about the potential magnitude of press scrutiny if things spin out of control. He says he wants to protect Malcolm, but he also really needs to protect himself, and just coming off of reshuffle, the popularity rating is at an all-time low."

"You're sounding like a politician yourself, Julius. I thought you were Malcolm's friend."

"I am, Sam. _I am._ But I wouldn't be acting as a true friend if I lied to you about the risks." Sam was silent.

"You asked how worried you should be. I'm saying there is something to worry about, but you've both got enough to contend with right now. Let's try to take as positive an approach as we can. I will schedule the meeting and I will be there. Fleming will not have unsupervised access. I will also debrief the PM afterwards, and will give Malcolm an update directly."

Sam still wasn't happy, but she knew Julius was right.

"Okay. Thanks, Julius. Once you've got it scheduled, would you text me so we know what time it's happening? I'd say to text Malcolm, but his Blackberry had an accident and the new one won't be ready until tomorrow."

"Sure, Sam. Have a nice night. And try not to worry about this."

Sam ended the call. She sat for a moment at the kitchen table, considering the whole situation. It hadn't gotten through to her before that Malcolm really could end up out of Number Ten over this. It wasn't fair. He'd done nothing wrong. But then, neither had Roth. She shivered. _Don't get hysterical. That was a different situation._

She looked at the clock. 19:00 already, and she hadn't even begun to make dinner. Malcolm wasn't the only one who'd had a long day. Instead of investigating options in the fridge, Sam ordered pizza.

* * *

 **JAMIE:** What's the latest? Any leads?

 **OLLIE:** Not much yet, but the guy hasn't made many friends. Some financial stuff.

 **JAMIE:** Work history since leaving #10?

 **OLLIE:** Tough to research. Any ideas?

 **JAMIE:** Fat Pat might know.

 **OLLI:** K

* * *

 _He crept quietly through the woods. The smell of decaying leaves was everywhere. The peaty earth was springy under his trainers. Time was short. Frederick was counting down from one hundred, and if Malc didn't find a hiding place soon he'd be caught out and have his own chance to count._

 _This was their third round, and they had already exhausted the usual hiding places. Malcolm cast his eyes about, looking for something good. "23, 22, 21…"_

 _Finally, he saw it. The perfect spot. He hurried over to the large hollowed out tree, being careful to tread quietly so as not to give away his location. He wasn't sure he'd be able to squeeze into the opening, but he was a slim child and managed it nicely even with the bulky cast on his left arm. He used a twig to rake some leaves up around the opening to cover his trainers just as Frederick called "1…I'm coming to find you!"_

 _It smelled strongly of mushrooms and decay inside the tree. Something tickled the back of his neck, but he was wedged in so tightly he couldn't reach round to scratch it with his good arm. Seconds ticked by. Malc heard Frederick find one of the other boys – probably Jack, the youngest. He kept hiding in the same place._

 _More time passed. Now Malcolm couldn't hear Frederick's footsteps, so perhaps he was searching another part of the woods. His arm hurt and he had to wee, so he didn't want to wait around to be found. Peeking out from his bolt hole, he didn't see anyone and decided to risk a run for home base._

"Malc, dinner's here."

He startled awake. Sam was leaning over him in the twilit room. That's right. He'd had a lie-down after his call with the PM.

"I ordered pizza. Hope you're hungry." Malcolm sat up rubbing his eyes. He felt like he'd been asleep for days.

"I could eat. Be right there, Luv." Sam left for the kitchen. Malcolm sat another few moments, trying to recall the details of the dream. He could still feel the woods around him. Odd place for his mind to take him after a shitty day. Probably talking to Peel about the woods had jogged his memory. At any rate, he was grateful for any dream that wasn't a nightmare.

"Wet dream would've been better," He mumbled to himself. He took off the oxygen, jotted the time in his log and then headed toward the kitchen, Sam and a mushroom and onion pizza.


	46. Chapter 46

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the delay. It's a nice long chapter, though. It's Thursday morning in Reshuffle land, which starts with a follow-up meeting with the Detective Chief Inspector. Another chapter is in the works with an ETA of early next week. If you have a moment, please leave a review. They help keep me focused and motivated to keep going. Much appreciated!

* * *

 **NICOLA:**

" _What,_ Malcolm? I swear, for someone who is off work you sure do a lot of work."

 **MALCOLM:**

"Jamie filled me in on the Immigration thing. It's tape delay, right?"

 **NICOLA:**

[Sighs, frustrated] " _Yes_ , Malcolm. _Jesus_."

 **MALCOLM:**

"Good. Just do whatever Jamie tells you to do. And let him fight with the press if they get feisty. Just shut it and sit there looking cheery."

 **NICOLA:**

"I think that's the most sexist thing I've ever heard you say."

 **MALCOLM:**

"And I didna even say the word cunt. I guess I havena lost it."

 **NICOLA:**

"Is there _anything else_ you want to bollock me about? If not, I have some things to attend to."

 **MALCOLM:**

[Pause] "Keep working on growing those lady bollocks. They're coming along, but you've got a ways to go yet. And listen to Jamie. Bye now."

* * *

This time Malcolm answered the door and ushered in the Detective Chief Inspector and his companion. Sam was in the shower after a morning run. He led them into the living room.

"Morning, Malcolm, how are you feeling?" _Fucking hell._

Malcolm suppressed his first answer and went with something more polite. Sam would be proud of him. "A little better every day, Peel, thanks for asking."

He'd had another rough night fighting off nightmares. Finally, he'd gotten up at three and moved to the living room so he wouldn't keep disturbing Sam. He busied himself watching the news on telly and studying the newspapers as a distraction from obsessing over the PM's meeting with Fleming. He was climbing the walls and feeling very disconnected without his Blackberry and laptop. Sam was going in to the office to pick up both devices later in the day. Thank God.

"This is Detective Constable Jennifer MacFarland. She's with Police Strathclyde. She came down this morning to meet you in person and will head back to Glasgow tonight. MacFarland will lead the investigation under the supervision of my counterpart at Police Strathclyde, Detective Inspector Bruce Douglas. I will continue as your point of contact, relaying information to Douglas and MacFarland and also keeping you apprised of any news from Glasgow."

"Nice to meet you, Mister Tucker," Malcolm shook the extended hand.

"You, as well." Malcolm waved an arm toward the sofa, urging them to sit. "Would either of you like coffee? Water?"

Both declined, so Malcolm claimed his favourite chair and sat carefully, making sure the IV stand didn't get caught on the ottoman. Hopefully he'd be shut of it after his appointment with Doctor Ravi tomorrow.

"Sam will join us shortly."

"No worries. I'd like to start off by giving you a recap of what's gone on and what we know so far."

"Great." Peel had only left fourteen hours ago, so Malcolm wasn't sure what news there might be. MacFarland and Peel both had their laptops open, and MacFarland appeared to be taking notes.

"After our interview yesterday I had a call with Douglas and MacFarland to bring them up to speed. They were able to locate and inventory the archived evidence from the investigation into your brother's death and also the Colin Clatcher case.

"MacFarland also confirmed what you told us about the area surrounding the apartment building, including the route you described your father taking towards the market and the strip of woods in back of the building. The shed, unfortunately, is long gone, though the assets in the evidence locker include a number of things from inside the shed, as well as an extensive collection of photographs of the interior."

Malcolm swallowed. His throat had gone dry. "Great." _Please don't feel you have to show them to me, though. I'm good._

MacFarland broke in. "We're working to find out what happened to the shed itself. It's a long shot, and we probably won't find anything. It's possible we might be able to locate it and do another forensic workup on it. Even after forty years, they could find something. Forensics technology has come a long way."

Just then Sam hurried in, hair still damp. They paused to make introductions, and when Sam was settled in the chair across from Malcolm they resumed.

"The mother of the Clatcher child is still alive and checks in every year on the anniversary of Colin's disappearance. We havena told her there's been a break in the case, but with the details you gave us it's safe to say we have some new leads to pursue. I wanted to give you a heads up that we will likely inform her today, as we will need to interview her."

Malcolm breathed, taking that in. So the mother was still alive. And once they informed her it was likely that the press would get involved. _Fuck. This shit is about to get real._

Sam sat forward in her chair, engaging Peel with her eyes.

"Let me make sure I'm clear, Detective Constable. I understand that you will be informing Mrs. Clatcher that there's been a break in the case, but how much detail is she going to get? I'm asking because Malcolm is a public figure. While we expect the press will get involved eventually, we need to know what's going to be shared when and to whom so we can plan accordingly."

Malcolm smiled inwardly. Sam had a gift of soft assertiveness. He remembered the first time he noticed it early in their relationship. It was one of her more endearing qualities that never ceased to delight him. _Fuck, I love you, Sam_.

Detective Constable MacFarland replied before Peel could even process the question. "That's a good question, Sam, and I understand your concern. At this point we're just going to let her know that we have a new line of inquiry we're following up on. We will likely release that as a statement to the press right after we contact her to head off any speculation that may come up just from Mrs. Clatcher talking with friends and family."

Malcolm grunted. Impressive. He wasn't aware that any police, whether in Scotland or The Met, possessed that degree of foresight when it came to communications.

"Can we ask for advance notice before Malcolm's role in this is shared with anyone? Even internally in the course of the investigation."

Peel shot MacFarland a glance. "Everything about this case right now is on a need to know basis. We'll do our best to keep you apprised of who we're sharing information with, but it might not be possible to always give advance notice. I think I understand the sensitivity of the situation, and we'll do our best to protect your privacy. We follow strict protocols in our investigations. The last thing we want to do is touch off a press frenzy around you, Malcolm."

In spite of the sincerity of both officers, Malcolm wasn't reassured. He'd been around the block a few too many times to think that any branch of the government was immune to the types of information leaks that were synonymous with politics.

"I appreciate your efforts to keep my name out of it, Peel, but we both know the way the world works. Word will get out. And when it does there will be press attention that could make it hard for me to do my job and even get the PM unwanted attention. We just want some control over when and how it comes out."

Peel consulted his laptop. "I understand from my initial conversation with Mister McDonald that you were speaking in advance to some friendly press as a contingency measure?"

"Yes, that's right. I've spoken with _The Guardian_. To be fully transparent, the whole reason this has come up again is that someone dug up the old press coverage of my father's trial and passed it around to try to cause some swirl." Malcolm still felt ashamed that it took the threat of media attention for him to come forward.

Sam jumped in. "That's not the full story, though. It's not just about doing political damage control. Honestly, Malcolm had suppressed everything until he was in hospital."

Malcolm tried to cut her off. "Sam, they don't need the details of all that."

"I think we do," Peel broke in. "My impression from our meeting yesterday was that you had only recently decided to come forward, and one of my follow-ups for today was to find out why you decided to come forward now, after all this time. I doubt your motive was purely political, no matter what the circumstances. Maybe you'd better back up and tell us how this all played out."

Sam clasped his hand. He was irritated that she raised it, but now it sounded like it was on Peel's agenda anyway.

"When I was in hospital for pneumonia the doctor noticed some scarring in my lungs. It turns out the scarring was caused by the incident I told you about with the chlorine in the shed when I was six. I really hadna thought about any of this stuff in the longest time. I never even told Sam about it.

"In the course of telling the doctor what he needed to know and filling Sam in, I remembered what happened with Colin.

"When I left hospital I found out from _The Guardian_ that they had received copies of the coverage of my father's trial. They reported it to me instead of running with it. Since then, we discovered who leaked the information and dealt with that. Unfortunately, he also leaked the articles to a disgruntled former employee, who is likely in the process of planning to do something with the information.

"So it was really a combination of discovering the scarring in my lungs as a result of my father's abuse, then recapitulating that and thus recalling it in more detail, and then the threat of the leak. Sam and my sister, Julia, were already pressing me to report it before we knew about the leak. So I guess it was the linchpin, if you will, but not the whole reason." The saturation monitor beeped a warning.

Malcolm leaned back and breathed. He still felt like whatever motive he had for coming forward now could not undo the damage of _not_ coming forward when he was fourteen. Sam rubbed the back of his hand and then stood and disappeared into the kitchen, returning shortly with a glass of water for him. Peel and MacFarland both typed furiously. Finally, Peel looked up.

"Thanks for giving us the background. That gives me a clearer picture of things. If you're worrying about what we think of you for not coming forward sooner, please stop it. You were just as much a victim of the situation as Colin was. You were a child and should have never been put in that position. You said yourself yesterday that you weren't even sure if it even really happened until just recently. That's your mind's way of trying to protect you. The important thing is that you are coming forward now."

Malcolm felt his eyes grow hot and a lump form in his throat. No one from the Met should be so understanding. It just didn't fit with the stereotype.

"I'm a little concerned about this disgruntled former employee, though. I would like to know who he is, what information he has and how you think he might use it."

"I am not comfortable sharing that just yet." It was just so involved. Until Malcolm heard back from Julius about how it went with the PM, he didn't want to go into any detail. If he were sacked, then Steve would likely never do anything with the articles. It was odd to see an upside to the idea that he might be out of Number Ten by day's end.

"Back to your original question, _The Guardian_ has an exclusive with me in the event that the leaking of the _Glasgow Daily_ articles or the investigation causes off-point press attention. The article will only go public with my express approval."

"I would like to ask that we see the article before it goes out. My concern is that the content might inadvertently compromise the case."

"That sounds fair. Hopefully it will never see the light of day, but we certainly don't want to derail the investigation. Jamie McDonald is working with _The Guardian_. Once we have a draft he will see to it that you get a copy."

"Great! Well, let's move on then. I have some other follow-on questions from our time yesterday." Sam glanced at the clock, likely to signal to Peel that this was going a bit long.

"Okay."

"First off, do you remember anything else about what you witnessed your father doing to the Clatcher boy?"

"No."

"What about when your father carried Colin away? Do you remember any other details that might help us?"

Malcolm cast his mind back.

"No, nothing else."

"How about the woods? You gave us some good descriptions of what they were like back then. Did you remember anything more?"

"Yes. Well, sort of. It was actually a dream, but it was more of a memory of playing hide and seek in the woods with some of the other kids. It was probably just on my mind after we talked and that's why I had the dream."

"Why don't you tell us about it?"

"Okay." Malcolm leaned back and tried to plug back into the dream as much as possible.

"We were playing in the woods. One boy was counting, and the rest of us were hiding."

"How old were you?" MacFarland asked.

"Let's see…in the dream I had a cast on my left arm, and that happened when I was eight."

"Your father?" Peel asked. Malc nodded.

"I was looking for a really good place to hide. We played back there a lot, and most of the hiding places were old news. This time, I found a hollowed out tree that was big enough for me to squeeze into."

"Where was the tree?" Peel asked. Malcolm thought about it.

"I turned right at the old car. I guess that would have been north. I'd say it was twenty paces north from the car."

"Very good. What happened next?"

"At first I heard the boy searching, but time passed and he'd moved further away. I decided to run for home base. That's when I woke up."

MacFarland looked up from her laptop. "That's a very clear memory. Could you tell us about some of the other hiding places you and the other kids used when you played back there?"

"Let's see. There was the abandoned car, of course. Up to three kids could hide in there easily if they crouched down on the floorboards. Once someone hid under the car. That was a tough one, though, and he was filthy afterwards." Malcolm paused to sip his water, trying to think back.

"There was a big boulder I would hide behind sometimes. It was close to home base. There was also an old culvert where the woods butted up against the next street. One time several of us lifted the top off and climbed down inside, but we only used it that one time. It was very dark and scary in there and really smelly. The one who was "it" never could find us, and we had to climb back up and wave him over."

Peel and MacFarland shared a look, and MacFarland typed notes.

"That sounds incredibly dangerous. Glad you only used it once. You say the pipe was on the other side of the strip of trees?"

"Aye."

MacFarland chimed in. "I will make sure we look into that. These details are really very helpful. You have a good memory. Where was home base?"

"This one tree. We always used it as base. I think it was an oak. I'd say it was ten paces south and west of the car."

"Any other details come to mind? More hiding places?"

Malcolm was sure there were other hiding places, but was coming up empty. "No. Sorry, I think that's it."

MacFarland smiled. "You did fine. That's a lot, actually." MacFarland typed. Peel leaned forward.

"Right before we wrapped up yesterday I was asking you about how your father behaved around children in your apartment building. Really, anything you can tell us will help us get a better profile of your father. Have you recalled anything since we talked?"

"Not really," Malcolm had that same niggling feeling that there was something, though. He took a moment to try to capture it, but no soap.

"When you said that, you looked like you were thinking of something, though." So MacFarland, though young, was a bit of a ball-buster. Great.

"Both times you've asked me that question I've had this feeling that there was something, but I can't remember anything specific. I dinna know how to describe it."

MacFarland set her laptop on the coffee table and leaned forward. "With your permission, I would like to take you through a cognitive interview. It's another way of retrieving memories. Would you be open to that?" Malcolm was getting the sense that Peel was more of an administrative type and MacFarland was more hands on. Makes sense, given their ranks.

Peel broke in before Sam could say no. "Let's hold off on that for now, as that takes a bit of time, and we're likely over-staying our welcome as it is. Malcolm, would you be open to doing that perhaps next week? If you remember anything in the meantime, of course, please let us know."

"Sure."

The detectives packed up their laptops and Sam walked them to the door. Malcolm looked at the clock. They'd talked for an hour and a half. And he had a feeling this was just the tip of the iceberg.


	47. Chapter 47

**Author's Note:**

Thanks so much for the follows, favorites and encouraging reviews! You really do inspire me. Here's another longish chapter, and I am at work on the next. It's still Thursday in Reshuffle land.

* * *

 **SAM:** What the fuck is Stevens thinking? Get a muzzle on him.

 **JAMIE:** ? Is this Malcolm?

 **SAM:** Fuck yes. Turn on BBC. Ass-spraying mayhem in Crim Justice.

 **JAMIE:** On it.

* * *

Jamie slid into the back seat of the car from the service, glad to be away from the PFI building and on his way home to help Bev get ready for Morgan's birthday dinner.

He'd been knocked out of bed early by Malcolm over fucking Stevens. Four days in office, and the numb cunt had already managed to garner unfriendly press attention for the inflammatory tone of his new policy on drinks driving. Needless to say, Stevens hadn't seen the need to clear the new policy with Number Ten first. Maybe it was just a rookie mistake, or maybe this was Steven's way of fisting Jamie.

They had gotten off to a rough start after Jamie killed Steven's proposed campaign on victim's rights because it would likely compete with one of the PM's upcoming initiatives. Now that they were past reshuffle, Jamie was getting a little taste of what it was like to be Malcolm; having insider information from the PM and making decisions based on that, but being unable to share the reasoning behind those decisions.

After wrapping things up with Stevens, he headed upstairs to check in with Nicola on Friday's press event to announce the new immigration policy. Once he was confident she was on track for that he pulled Ollie for an update on the special project. They found a small hoteling office so they could have some privacy. Reeder brought his laptop, which Jamie hoped was a sign that he found something they could use.

"So what do you have?"

"Not much, really. This isn't easy, you know. I'm not The Met. All I have to work with is public records, and it's hard to dig too far into those without raising questions."

"Yesterday you said there was some financial stuff?"

"Oh yeah, that. It's not much. He defaulted on a loan this year, and the creditor has a lien against his house."

"Any idea why?"

"Jamie, all I have is what's on record. I don't know why he defaulted. It just says that he did." Fair enough.

"How about press attention?" Ollie pulled something up on his laptop.

"There was coverage in all the major syndicates when he resigned. It looks like standard PA comms from Number Ten." _Hell, Malcolm probably sent that out himself,_ Jamie thought _._

"Since then, there was one brief interview with _The Standard_. Kind of a 'where are they now?' piece. He was one of several has-beens interviewed. Said he was retired from public office but still avidly following politics. Working on a memoir, apparently. That was in a Sunday BBC article just last spring."

"So basically we've got nothing. No arrests for drinks driving? Kicking a dog? Fucking someone's wife or husband?"

Ollie closed his laptop. "No, nothing like that."

"What about Fat Pat? Did she have anything?"

"No, nothing at all. She thought he'd crossed the aisle after the sacking, so I asked Emma what she knew, but she didn't know anything." That's right. Ollie's girlfriend.

"Maybe he went with the Nutters. I have a few people I can check with in that camp."

"What did he do that was so awful? What's the issue between him and Malcolm?" Jamie sighed. Even he didn't really know the specifics of what happened, but it was clear that something had. Something major having to do with controversy around Andrew Roth. Roth died under questionable circumstances shortly after Malcolm hired Jamie, and Jamie had a sense that Malcolm held Fleming responsible in some way.

On Jamie's second day on the job he'd walked directly into a toe-to-toe shouting match between Fleming and Malcolm. At the time, he thought it was going to get physical. In the end, Steve stormed out of the office, yelling "This isn't fucking over!" The next day he resigned, Jamie was sure, under duress.

"That's really a question for Malcolm. You're meeting with him tomorrow, right?" The shadow of uncertainty was back on the junior adviser's face.

"That's right."

"Look, Malcolm told me he was sharp with you when you called to tell him about Fleming. You need to cut him some slack. Man's been through a lot with the health stuff alone, not to mention the swirl you caused by circulating those old articles."

"No, I know. I just feel really badly about everything. I don't know what I was thinking when I started all of that." The skinny twat really did look remorseful. Maybe Malcolm was right about Reeder. He might be salvageable.

"How's his health? I know he had pneumonia, but when we met at his house I saw he was still on oxygen and IVs and things. And he's so thin. Do you know anything? It's just that he looks really bad." _You should've seen him in hospital_ , Jamie thought. _Now_ , that _was bad._

"He's on the mend. You could let him know that you're concerned for him. I wouldna ask him for details, though." A question like that coming from Ollie would only end in more grief for the junior adviser.

Jamie wrapped up with Reeder and headed out. On the ride home he worked to mentally switch gears from enforcer to father. He and Bev had their first couples counselling session earlier in the week, and Jamie really wanted to make some changes. They were both working hard on their relationship, and he didn't want to blow it by not being fully present for Morgan's sixth birthday.

It was a dinner party tonight with family and a few close friends like Malcolm and Sam. The actual "kid" party was this weekend. Tonight there would be social time followed by a sit-down dinner and cake. They didn't entertain often, and Bev always got herself up in a twist over details. Jamie decided he could help take the pressure off if he got home early.

Jamie was both surprised and pleased that Sam and Malc were coming. He really hadn't expected them to, with Malcolm just out of hospital and still on an IV, and now also with the current Steve Fleming crisis. Maybe it would be a nice distraction from everything else.

It would also mean a lot to Morgan that they were there. He had a strange sort of hero worship for Malcolm, always going all quiet and wide-eyed when in the presence of the old bastard. Later after seeing him, Morgan would prattle on and on about Malcolm, going so far as to even try to impersonate his cross eyebrows and scowl.

Jamie had one closely guarded picture of the sweary spin doctor reading a faerie story to a four-year-old Morgan. Morgan was in a blue sleeper, perched on Malcolm's spindly knees, gazing raptly at Malcolm's face as the story unfolded. Malcolm, unaware of this attention or that he was under camera surveillance, held the book with one hand, far enough out so that Morgan could see the illustrations. His other arm was wrapped around Morgan.

It was the expression on the older man's face that really made the photo. Gone was the tense scowl, the bunched eyebrows and tight shoulders. Malcolm's face was relaxed, the hint of a smile playing at his lips, as if he were sharing a secret with a close friend. Perhaps that was the day that the strange bond between Morgan and Malcolm began to form. Jamie wasn't sure. Maybe some day he would show that picture to Malc and Sam. Maybe even at Morgan's party.

* * *

Malcolm trundled the IV stand on his left as he made his way to the door. He'd seen Julius pull into the driveway and his heart started trip hammering in his chest. He hadn't called to say he was coming. This could either be good news or his invitation to resign. He really didn't need any more fucking surprises.

Sam was at Number Ten picking up his Blackberry and laptop. He'd considered riding with her on the off chance that Julius was free so he could hear the latest but decided against it. He didn't know when Fleming's appointment with the PM was and didn't want to run into the fucker. He was pretty sure if he did he would either punch him in the mouth or have an aeneurism.

Sam seemed torn between the fear of leaving him alone and the more warranted fear of what might happen if he went along with her and ran into Fleming. At first, she decided not to go in to the office, but Malcolm convinced her it would ultimately be better for him to have his technology back as soon as humanly possible. He'd been driving her ape shit with compulsive-obsessive tics while without his device, and he was sure it had grown quite old.

He breathed deeply, then opened the door.

"Julius. I'm surprised to see you. Thought I'd get a call." The PM's adviser's face gave nothing away. Malcolm let him in and the two men headed for the living room.

"I actually saw Sam on my way out. She said she'd be home shortly." Julius stopped there. Malcolm felt a pang in his stomach. He gave it five seconds, according to the clock.

" _Fuck,_ Julius, did the meeting happen or not?" Finally the bald idiot cracked a smile. Malcolm felt almost light-headed with relief.

"Yes it did, and, I must say, you'd be proud of the PM. I don't know what you said to him when you talked, but he was like a rabid bitch bulldog protecting her only pup."

The bell rang again. Odd. Sam wouldn't ring; she had a key. Julius sprang up from the couch.

"I'll get it. They made good time, considering it's the lunch rush." Malcolm was still in the dark, but now that he knew he wasn't getting sacked, he relaxed back in his chair, enjoying the release of tension.

Julius finished at the door and returned to the living room bearing several large takeaway bags. Malcolm smelled garam masala.

"Ordered up a celebratory lunch. I thought you might like a little Cinnamon Club."

"You are too fuckin kind Julius. Now admit it. You really did all of this as an excuse to get out of the office and tuck into some onion bajis." Malcolm had to put on a gruff façade to mask how touched he was.

Sam arrived as they were organising the food on the living room table.

"It's already here! Wait, I'll get real plates and flatware." Malcolm's angel disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with plates, silverware and napkins.

"Were you in on this?" Sam smiled impishly.

"Julius asked me what you liked." She shot a glance at Nicholson. "This was sweet of you, Julius."

The trio assembled their plates and quiet descended as they enjoyed the food. Sam and Julius kept up light conversation, steering clear of the main topic while they were eating. Once they had a pot on the boil for tea Malcolm could wait no longer.

"So, tell me the details."

Nicholson took his time scraping the last bits of curry up on his fork, turning an amused eye on Malcolm. Finally he wiped his upper lip with a napkin and set his plate on the coffee table.

"So Fleming came in looking very polished and neat. I think he'd even trimmed his mustache."

"He still has it, then." Malcolm used to always give the fucker grief about shaving off the awful thing.

"Oh, yes. A little grey in it, but otherwise, no change. The PM was cordial but reserved. Greeted him and made some small talk, then got down to business. 'So Fleming, what's this I hear about you having some concerns about Tucker?'

"Fleming really turned on the charm. He managed to look downright mournful. He said that an informant had given him some articles about you. He read them and was _shocked_. _Horrified_ to read about your attack on your father. And then as the trial unfolded, his commiseration over the abuse you'd endured, and puzzlement about why you didn't report it. He really leaned on how you could have prevented the death of your brother if only you'd told someone what was happening at home."

Malcolm felt his heart flutter and clenched his jaw. Even hearing it from a third party got him upset.

"The PM stopped him there, very dismissive of that. His basic tone was along the lines of 'you are a fucking idiot if you think I'd hold a child responsible in a situation like that.'

"Then Fleming played the paedophile card. You were right about him going there. He referenced the article that implied there was suspicion on sexual abuse and then spewed some statistics about paedophiles with a history of sexual abuse. He finally ended with that same mournful tone, expressing his deep concern over the reliability of someone with that background. He closed with speculation about who else the informer might have shared the articles with, and what the PM's supporters might think if the story got legs.

"The PM let him wind down and even allowed for a few seconds of silence. Then he basically filleted Fleming and handed him his bollocks. Said he knew exactly what he was doing and saw it as further evidence of Fleming's unfitness for public life. Basically called the man a waste of skin and told him to leave."

Malcolm soaked it all in. The PM had really gone to bat for him. He just couldn't fucking believe it. "I wish you'd recorded it." Julius laughed.

"Well, you never know, it's possible it _was_ recorded, though _I_ have no knowledge of recording devices in the PM's office."

They chatted about current events until the PM's adviser excused himself to return to Number Ten. Sam saw him to the door while Malcolm rooted in Sam's purse and found the box containing his new Blackberry.

He grasped the replacement device with relish and fired it up. Incredible how attached one could become to an inanimate object. He ignored the overflowing In Box, as that was something better dealt with on his laptop. There were two texts. The first was from Julius from before he knew Malcolm was without his device. The second was from Fleming and sent just an hour ago.

 **FLEMING:** I'm not done. Count on it.

"Malc, you need to get in the shower. We have to leave for Jamie and Bev's in an hour." Malcolm looked up from his Blackberry, schooling his expression.

"Right. What do you want me to wear?" He rose and walked with the IV stand toward the guest bedroom.

"I've laid it out on the bed. I'm going to wrap his gift and then we need to go, so get a move on, Luv."


	48. Chapter 48

**Author's Note:**

Sheesh. Tough going on this one. We've reached the end of Thursday in Reshuffle land. Friday is going to be a very busy day. I will keep the chapters coming. Reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

 **MALCOLM:** I hear you're doing well. If I don't CU, take care about Israel thing. PM's got a blind spot. Mention it frequently.

 **DAN MILLER:** Got your new Blackberry, IC. When r u back to work? Hope ur feeling better.

* * *

Malcolm stood near the wall not far from the foyer, taking in the gathering. For six, Morgan was a very well behaved child, and he'd put up with an ample dose of adult attention before disappearing into the back yard with his cousins and his new football – a gift from his aunt and uncle.

Similarly, Malcolm had done a fair amount of socialising with Jamie's sister and brother-in-law and assorted other relatives, asking all the right questions about marriages and children. He was definitely pushing his limit, both on energy and also social self-regulation. He wished he could escape into the back yard with the boys. On second thought, definitely better not to do that, given what might be smeared all over the papers in the coming days.

Sam was much better at these things, maybe because she was a woman, or perhaps because she came from a large family. She had already cooed over the three infants in the room and was currently cradling Maisie, Morgan's two-year-old sister, in her arms. Maisie was getting antsy, as toddlers often do when they're being held and they want to be let down to do some exploring. Malcolm looked on as Jamie spied the problem from across the room, extricated himself from his current conversation and made his way over to Sam and Maisie.

It was the way Jamie accepted the handoff from Sam that did it. Sam leaned toward him, Smiling down at Maisie, obviously reluctant to give up the warm squirming toddler to her father. And Jamie reached toward Maisie, smiling down at his daughter. Maisie stretched her arms out compellingly toward her father. Transfer complete, the two-year old screeched excitedly, putting her hand in Jamie's mouth.

And suddenly Malcolm was back in Maryhill, in front of the flat, watching his Da bounce a small boy about the same age as Maisie up and down lightly to elicit a laugh. The mother of the boy watched the display, seemingly unconcerned at the interchange. The six-year-old version of himself was a lot more concerned. Concerned and angry.

He could feel the sun on his neck as he stood there, smouldering, a huge lump in his throat. He breathed deeply to try to clear the lump, but it came with a sharp twist of pain in his side from where his father had hit him just that morning. He just wanted to run up and kick his Da in the shins. At the same time, he wanted to scurry away to somewhere private and cry his heart out. _Da doesna want me anymore_ , he thought. _Not the way he used to._

Malcolm shook himself out of the reverie. _What the_ fuck _?_ His guts crawled. He suddenly felt very warm, as if one of the partygoers had cranked the thermostat to the maximum setting. He had to get out of there. Sam had turned to speak to one of Bev's relatives, her back to Malcolm. He moved carefully to the front door, navigating his way with the IV pole. Guests parted for him, resuming conversation after he passed through.

He made it outside just in time. His dinner came up behind the juniper bushes at the side of the house. When he finally felt that the retching was over, Malcolm straightened up, wiping his brow and face with his handkerchief. Miraculously, he'd managed that without overturning the IV stand.

No way he could go back inside. He was still sweating and trembling all over. When he felt he could make it, Malcolm trundled the IV stand back to the car and let himself in on the passenger side, leaving the door open and the IV stand just outside of the car. Best to just wait here for a bit and see if he could pull himself together.

* * *

Sam had gone from mildly frustrated to moderately worried. Malcolm was not by instinct a social man, and was notorious for putting in an appearance at social gatherings and then bailing out for one reason or another, leaving her to complete the social niceties.

But usually he would at least let her know he was stepping away, usually with his Blackberry in hand and an urgent phone call as an excuse. At the very least, he would get her attention from across the room and signal towards the door with an apologetic smile. This time there was nothing. The man was just scarce.

With everything going on, Sam had been concerned about whether he was up for Morgan's birthday and even suggested they cancel, but Malcolm seemed keen to attend. Sam imagined some of that had to do with getting out of the house – his first time out since arriving home from hospital. He was also very fond of Jamie and Jamie's children, especially Morgan.

"Jamie, have you seen Malc? I can't find him anywhere."

Jamie looked a little harried, clasping a box of birthday candles in one hand. Throughout the event he had made an obvious effort to help Bev with everything. Sam smiled inwardly. Bev had told her a little about some of their recent difficulties. Sam hoped this was a sign that the couples counselling was making an impact.

"Hmm – haven't seen him in a while. You know Malc – maybe he needed a break and went out back with the boys. Hey, you don't have a lighter do you? Or matches?"

Sam shook her head. "No, sorry. I'll check the back yard. If you see Malc, could you let him know I'm looking for him?" Jamie nodded curtly and continued on his quest for fire.

Sam looked out the kitchen window, but Malcolm was nowhere in sight. Neither were the boys, for that matter, so maybe they had moved to the front yard.

Just then, Sam felt a tug on her skirt. Morgan was there. His hair was awry, his shirttail peeked out from under his jumper and his jeans had acquired some impressive grass stains at the knees.

"Mrs. Tucker?"

"What is it, Morgan?"

"I think Mister Tucker needs you. He's out in your car." Sam breathed, trying not to jump to conclusions.

"Oh? Did you talk to him?" Just then, Jamie entered the kitchen with a borrowed lighter.

"Yes. We told him it's almost time for cake, but he wouldn't come in. Said he was feeling a bit off. And he was very pale. I hope he feels better soon. I hate being ill." Jamie made eye contact with Sam, obviously torn between going to check on Malcolm and proceeding with the cake.

"Well, I will look in on him. Thanks for telling me, Morgan, you're very kind, you know." Morgan blushed and looked away. So, kind and shy, too.

"Sam, maybe I should – " She cut him off.

"No, you go ahead with the cake, Jamie. I'm sure he's just tired. This is his first time out of the house, so I'm not surprised. I will text you once we're home so you know we're okay."

He still looked torn. "Thanks for coming, Sam, it means a lot to us that you and Malcolm were able to make it. Tell him I will call him in the morning before his appointments."

Sam said hasty goodbyes to Bev and the kids and collected their coats from the bedroom. Once out on the front stoop she spied Malcolm in the passenger seat of the car with the door open. The IV stand stood at the curb.

He was indeed very pale, Sam noted, as she reached the car. He registered her presence, but did not make eye contact. Then she saw the sheen of sweat on his brow. She knelt by the car, placing a hand to his cheek. His skin was clammy.

"Malcolm, you're ill, aren't you. What's wrong?"

He swallowed roughly, not answering. She noted he smelled slightly of vomit.

"Is your stomach off?" He still didn't answer. She clasped his hand, which was cold and trembling.

"You're scaring me, Malc. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Finally he cleared his throat. His voice was quiet and hoarse. "I…remembered something." He finally looked her in the eye. His eyes were bloodshot. "I canna talk about it yet. Just want to go home."

Sam felt her eyes well up. Poor dear. She kissed him on the forehead to let him know it was okay. Then, she lowered the IV stand so it would fit on the floorboard between his knobby knees and went around to the driver's side. As she pulled away from the curb she saw Jamie watching pensively from the window.

Once home, Sam drew a warm bath and herded Malcolm in. He was still pale and uncommunicative, but seemed to relax into the warm water. He let her rub his back and neck with a warm wash loth, leaning into her touch. He didn't say anything, and his eyes were distant.

Even though it was early, Malcolm headed from the bath straight to bed. Sam plied him with some leftover pizza, but he wasn't interested. After cleaning up the kitchen and bringing in the mail, Sam dashed off a quick text to Jamie. "We're home. Not sure what's wrong yet. Maybe just too long a day. Nice party – thanks again and happy birthday to Morgan."

She reentered the darkened bedroom. Malcolm hadn't moved from when she'd last been in. She changed into her nightgown and slid into bed next to him, moving in close and encircling him with her arms. He sighed. She didn't press him, though she wanted to. Instead, Sam just held him, noticing that he was no longer cold and clammy. His muscles had relaxed from the bath. He smelled like her bath soap. He sighed again.

"It was about my father and the kids at the apartment. One in particular. A boy about Maisie's age."

Sam cringed. Not another. "Was it – like with Colin?"

Malcolm rolled over to face her.

"No. Not like that. It was pretty normal, really. Da was talking to the mother of the boy and she let him pick him up and bounce him around a bit. Sort of like the way Jamie bounced Maisie when he took her back from you at the party." It did sound pretty innocent, but his voice was still tight with emotion.

"What else?"

"I remember watching and feeling so mad. He used to play that way with me, but he'd stopped recently. Whenever I tried to be close with him he'd push me away and yell at me. Just that morning he'd hit me for trying to climb in his lap. I didna understand what I'd done wrong. I was jealous of that boy. And scared for him, too."

Sam rubbed his chest. Poor dear. "How old were you?"

He clasped the hand that was rubbing his chest and entwined their fingers. "Six, I think. It had to be before what happened in the shed because after that I tried to have as little to do with Da as possible."

They lay in silence for a while, holding hands.

"Sam, I'm scared. This memory, it was so powerful. One minute I was at Morgan's party and the next I was back in Glasgow, six years old, watching my Da hold a boy. When I came out of it I was sick. That's how strong it was."

His reaction did seem very strong, given the memory he described.

"Maybe I'm cracking up. Or maybe…maybe it means he really did do something to me. When I was little." His eyes shone with tears in the darkness.

"No matter what he did, you're still the same person, Malc, and I love you. We'll get through this together, okay?" He nodded. A tear slipped down his cheek. She brushed it away.

"Try to sleep. We'll see what the counsellor has to say tomorrow." She stared at him until he closed his eyes.

Sam was just starting to drift off when he spoke again. He didn't sound even remotely tired.

"Sam?"

"Yes, Malc?"

"I'm so sorry I couldn't give you any children." He sounded really upset.

Sam knew there would be no children long before they married. She'd always looked forward to having a family, but when she found out Malc was sterile from the mumps she accepted the situation. She'd raised the idea of adoption early on, but he kept avoiding the conversation. Later, she came to the conclusion that for whatever reason, he really didn't want kids. Now that she knew more of his history, she had a pretty good idea why.

"What brought this on?"

"The kids at the party. I watched you with them. You were so happy. And you would have made a great Mum. Also, Fleming said some things when we talked."

"Malc, I've got you. That's enough. And to hell with Steve Fleming."

"Sam, I lied to you about the mumps."

She cringed. _Oh, Malcolm._

"I'm so sorry. It's – I had a vasectomy when I was twenty. I didna know how to tell you."

Now nobody was sleepy. Sam sat up and turned on the lamp on her nightstand. "Malc, what did you think I'd say?"

"I didna know. At the time, I couldna explain everything. Why I did it. And I was afraid you'd want me to get it reversed."

She was profoundly hurt that he lied to her about the vasectomy, that he didn't trust her to understand. But more and more she knew that lack of trust was not about her.

"This is about your father?"

Malcolm looked away, nodding. He didn't elaborate.

"Were you afraid you would be like your father?"

"Yes. With the hitting. And maybe, if he did other things…I didna want to take that chance."

Sam's heart broke for him. So much of his life was changed by that evil fucking bastard of a father.

"Come here."

She held him and they cried together until they both drifted off to sleep.


	49. Chapter 49

**Author's Note:**

This is a short one to tide you over while I work on the next few chapters. It's Friday morning in Reshuffle land, and there are a lot of irons in the fire for Malcolm and company.

* * *

 **Glasgow Daily**

 _18 November, 20XX_

 _Angus Greeley, Staff Reporter_

Today Glasgow Division of Police Strathclyde announced a break in a 40-year-old missing person's case. Detective Inspector Bruce Douglas reported that an eye-witness has come forward with information about the disappearance of Colin Clatcher, a two year-old Maryhill boy who disappeared in 1967. Police are following up on the lead, and seem hopeful of finally discovering the fate of the young child. Fiona Clatcher, mother of Colin, is still living and is cooperating with the investigation.

* * *

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Jamie was getting sick of hearing that.

"You didna look so good last night when you left the party. Morgan was worried about you. So was I." Silence on the other end of the phone. Then, finally,

"Oh – _no_ , I'm _fine_. Just got tired. First time out of the house. Sorry about that. Did Morgan have a nice birthday?" Jamie crammed his wallet into his front pocket as he headed out the door for the two-block walk to the train station.

"Look, I know you've got appointments this morning, so I just wanted to check in on what happened with Fleming and the PM."

"Fine. It went fine." Great. More fines.

"Julius sat in. Said the PM told Fleming to go fuck off." Jamie grinned wickedly at that. Now that he knew the PM better, the idea of the conservative prude using any kind of colourful language seemed hilarious.

"So, that's sorted then. Great!"

"Not so much. I got a text from the fucker. Says he's not done."

"Do you think he means it?"

"Does the Pope wear a funny hat? Of course he means it. He'll work it until something breaks. That's his style." Malcolm sounded introspective. Maybe almost dejected. Jamie knew if he asked about it, though, he'd just get another "I'm fine. _Of course_ I'm fine." Fuck.

"Look, I've got Ollie digging around for something we can hold over Fleming to get him to back off. We don't have much yet, but I'm not stopping. We're going to shut him down."

"No you're not. Call off the dogs, Jamie. Tell Ollie to drop it." Jamie stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk. His heart started pounding and he felt a flush creep up from the neckline of his shirt.

" _What_? Fuck – Malcolm, we can't let him do this. I won't let him do this to you. Someone's got to take this cunt down." Passers-by stared at Jamie and he realised he was shouting into his phone. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm himself.

"Jamie, that's not the answer. It's like pouring oil on a fire. Just stop. Let it go. And what kind of example are you giving Reeder? It's not okay to dig up dirt on me but okay when it's someone else?"

"But, Malc-"

The bastard cut him off. "We've got the _Guardian_ write-up in the works. The police are moving on the lead I gave them and things are starting to happen." Jamie thought Malcolm's tone was falsely optimistic.

"To hell with that. I mean, fine, if that works out, great, but, _fuck_ , Malcolm, why aren't you fighting back? If it was me I'd be furious. Fleming's a fucking menace and he needs to be stopped. I dinna like what this is doing to you, Malc." Jamie's eyes burned with angry tears. Malcolm was quiet for several moments.

"If he causes a scandal then so be it. It's not worth it. I'm tired of keeping secrets and fighting the likes of him. Fuck it."

Jamie felt a lump in his throat get even larger at those words. The bastard was giving up. No fucking way.

"Look, I've got to catch the train. We'll talk about this later. Good luck at the doctor's. I will call you tonight."

"Jamie, I'm serious, don't d-" Jamie ended the call and stowed his Blackberry in his suit coat pocket. _Didna hear that last bit, Malc, sorry._

No way was he going to let Fleming do anything. _No way_.


	50. Chapter 50

**Author's Note:**

I never thought this story would get to fifty chapters. Not sure how that happened, but there are quite a few more on the horizon. It's Friday morning and Malcolm and Sam are back at St. Thomas's for appointments, and Jamie and Ollie have a plan. Reviews always inspire me and help the work keep moving forward.

* * *

Malcolm's Blackberry buzzed on the laminated surface of the cafeteria table. Sam turned it over before Malcolm could see who it was. She confiscated the device after receiving a text from Jamie advising that Fleming was up to something and it might be better if Malcolm didn't have it for a while. She heartily agreed and was more than happy to oblige. Malcolm had other things that needed his attention right now.

They had time to kill between appointments and were in the hospital cafeteria having coffee. Malcolm bit grudgingly into the oversized muffin Sam pressed upon him, clearly not happy about it, but yielding to Sam's will. Doctor Ravi hadn't had good things to say about his weight.

"You're up less than half a stone from when I last saw you. I would have expected you'd gain more than that by now. How is your appetite?"

"Not so good, Doc. I've been trying, but it's hard." Sam had a lot she wanted to add there, but held her tongue. She knew Malcolm wouldn't appreciate her filling in the details about why he wasn't hungry.

The doctor scrawled something across a prescription blank, then tore it off the pad and handed it to her while speaking to Malc. "This is a prescription to help with your appetite. You can get it filled at the chemist's downstairs."

"Other than the appetite, how are you feeling?"

"Great. Really. Much better. Havna had a low oxygen alarm since – when was the last one, Sam?"

"Wednesday night."

"And I've been going almost the whole day without the oxygen."

Ravi scrutinised Malcolm's face, obviously bothered by something. "You look tired, Malcolm. How are you sleeping?"

 _Don't jump in, Sam, let him answer_ , she thought, literally biting her tongue gently.

"Not sleeping all too well, lately, I admit. Lots going on. I will do better on that so I'm rested for the surgery." The doctor didn't look like he really bought that, but he didn't dig any deeper. He listened to Malcolm's heart and lungs for a long time.

"I think it's safe to say we've beaten the pneumonia. You can go off the oxygen and the nebuliser treatments, though I would like you to keep both the nebuliser and oxygen in the house for now. If you get congested, try a breathing treatment and see if that helps." The look of relief on Malcolm's face was almost comical. Sam gave him a cheery smile in return. The nurse had already removed the IV port. Without all the medical equipment, Sam looked forward to sleeping in their bedroom tonight instead of the downstairs guest room.

Doctor Ravi also did another pulmonary function test. Sam couldn't help that she teared up when it showed no improvement over the one they did while Malc was still in hospital. She was expecting at least some improvement. After all, the pneumonia seemed to have cleared up, and Malcolm was hardly coughing at all. Malcolm also looked a little crestfallen, if less surprised than she was. The doctor seemed to pick up on their reactions.

"I expected some slight improvement, but not much. I wouldn't be too worried about this reading, Malcolm. This just confirms that the scar tissue is impeding your lung function, which we already knew. Really, we can't know more without a biopsy."

"How soon can we do it?" Sam worried that Malcolm's low weight would delay things.

"Even though your weight isn't where we want it yet, I think we should schedule for next Friday. The new prescription should help with your appetite. If it doesn't, please call so we can try something else."

"Thanks, Doc. I'd like to get this all behind me."

They firmed up plans for the biopsy. Doctor Ravi explained that the procedure would be done by a colleague who specialised in surgical interventions for pulmonary fibrosis, the condition Dr. Ravi believed Malcolm had.

"Can I go back to work, Doctor?"

"I will give a very cautious yes to that. I know you're feeling better and also are probably anxious to get back to work. It would still be safer to stay home to reduce the risk of exposure to viruses and bacteria that could get you ill again and delay your biopsy. But I recognise you have an important role in government and that may not be possible. Please try to minimise your office time. You probably have enough residual antibiotic in your system that you will be fine. I'm just a cautious man."

Sam couldn't help jumping in on that. "Thanks, Doctor. Malc will be careful and only go into the office when he really needs to be there. He's got his laptop and phone at home." Malcolm's mouth quirked into a smile at her heavy-handed approach to managing him. Better that than an angry scowl.

"And please don't over-do it. Don't be surprised if you tire out easily. Even though the pneumonia is gone, your body has been through a lot. It often takes several weeks to get all of your energy back. If you feel tired, rest. It's important. And I hope you really do try to get more sleep. Sleep does wonderful things for the immune system and is critical for the healing process."

They said their goodbyes and the doctor hurried out of the room, clearly on his way to another appointment.

"How's the muffin?"

"It's fine." He hadn't said much since the appointment. Sam knew he was nervous about meeting with the counsellor.

"You've got Ollie at two today. I was thinking maybe we could go to Giuseppe's for lunch." Giuseppe's was Malcolm's favourite Italian restaurant. He'd actually worked there when he first arrived in London from Glasgow. It had changed hands more than once since then, but he had fond memories of the place and liked the food. Usually, he would pester Sam to go, but today he looked reluctant.

"Sure Luv, if there's time in between. Or we could just have sandwiches at home."

The Blackberry buzzed again against the table. Sam picked it up and dropped it in her purse. Malcolm's eyes followed it on its journey, obviously anxious to know who was trying to get a hold of him and what was going on.

* * *

"He's a Nutter."

"You're sure?"

"Well, not an official Nutter. He's a special communications consultant to Nigel Albee." Jamie waited to see if Ollie had even heard of Albee.

"Albee's the party leader, right? So, Fleming's a hired gun."

"My source says they kept the arrangement informal because they don't want it known that Fleming's working with them. Sounds fairly under the table."

Ollie brightened, as if he just remembered some good news. "I found out more about that lien on his house. It turns out that Gretchen Roth, Andrew Roth's ex, litigated for personal injury and slander. It was a civil suit, so it didn't show up when I checked criminal records. Never went to court. Fleming settled for a frightening amount of money. Looks like he took out a loan to pay it, and then defaulted on the loan."

Jamie considered it for a moment. "That might be something we could use. How much detail do you have about the suit and the money involved?"

Ollie consulted his laptop. "Enough, I think. I don't have the specifics of the complaint, but I have the top line and the settlement terms. How do you want to do this?"

"Let's work with what you've got. I'd like to take it to the fucker today. Let him know what we have and tell him if he does anything to Malcolm we'll leak it to the press."

"To get him to back off."

"That's right. And if he doesn't back off, then we'll follow through in a big way. I've got loads more leverage with the serious media at this point than he does."

"And Malcolm has even more than you do."

"He's out of this, though. Don't mention it to him when you meet. I mean it. He's got a lot on his mind."


	51. Chapter 51

**Author's Note:**

Here's a nice long chapter, with another to follow toward the end of the week. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Jamie loitered just outside of the Liberal Democrat headquarters at 4 Cowley Street, working through his In Box on his Blackberry and keeping an eye on the door. A contact inside the Lib Dem office notified him that Fleming was in the building for a 13:00 meeting. It was nearing 14:00 now, and Jamie hoped to catch the fucker on his way out for a little tete-a-tete.

His meeting with Ollie before Nicola's press event had gone well. Together they managed to work up an approach to try to get Fleming to drop any further action against Malcolm. It wasn't much, Jaime knew, but it was all they had. He didn't know Fleming well enough to forecast his reaction. He might say 'so fucking what?' and go ahead leaking the _Glasgow Daily_ articles to the press.

Jamie did feel badly for pulling Reeder into things. Before his conversation with Malcolm that morning, he really thought this was an opportunity for Ollie and him to unite against a shared enemy. But Malcolm's adamant words had ruined his perspective. It was frustrating. Time and time again, he'd be going down a path that he was sure was right, and then Malcolm would hold up a mirror and point out the risks.

When he met with Ollie and Ollie was fully engaged in the vendetta, Jamie couldn't help feeling like he was creating another potential Fleming. It struck him midway through their meeting, and it was too late to backpedal. He resolved to talk it through with Reeder after the dust settled to make sure he knew smear tactics were not the way to go moving forward. It reminded him of the many times when he was a kid and his father told him to never start smoking through the haze of his own cigarette smoke.

At any rate, he knew he needed to do this next bit alone. If it backfired, he didn't want it to come back on anyone but him. The last thing he wanted to do was to create further stress for Malcolm. He still got upset when he replayed this morning's phone conversation. The old bastard just sounded so beaten.

And he knew there was more to the story of why he left early from Morgan's party. He'd watched Sam and Malcolm talking in the car from the foyer window, and the man didn't look well. Sam's body language had conveyed extreme concern. Jamie worried about his health, and hoped they would have some answers soon. Equally as much, though, he worried that Malcolm was preparing to resign. And he wasn't ready for that.

* * *

From the cafeteria, they headed up to the sixth floor to meet with Doctor Jacobs, the counsellor Doctor Ravi recommended. Malcolm was visibly nervous in the waiting room, randomly picking up and flipping through magazines and obsessively checking his watch. Sam patiently filled out the paperwork. Finally, the receptionist called them to go back to the doctor's office.

The first appointment went well, Sam, thought. It was really more of a consultation than a counselling session. After introductory handshakes all round, the doctor offered coffee, which they both declined, and then sat at his desk. Malcolm and Sam took the two chairs on the other side of the desk.

"So, I understand that you're having some challenges you'd like to work through related to your childhood. As a general practice, I like to get to know my patients a little up front so I understand a little more about your situation, goals, and how we can work best together."

When Malcolm didn't say anything, Sam chimed in. "That sounds good." She clasped his hand. It was sweaty and trembling. Poor dear.

"So Malcolm, tell me a little about yourself. I know you're in government, though I admit I'm not too clear on your role."

Malcolm cleared his throat and seemed to come out of his paralytic coma. "I'm the Director of Communications for the Prime Minister. Basically, I work with the PM to develop and implement communications related to his initiatives and then work with all the ministers to make sure everything's on point."

"So that's what an enforcer is. I'd seen the term before, I think even associated with you, but I never really knew what that was."

Malcolm leaned back and grinned a little. "Well, it's a bit more than that, but at a high level, that's the position. It's also managing emergent situations from a communications perspective. Working with the media and such." Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Jacobs had honed in on what was probably the only topic that might help Malcolm feel more comfortable.

"I imagine that keeps you pretty busy."

"Aye, it's never dull. You never know what's going to happen next, but you've got to be ready for it."

"Fascinating."

"Doc, I've never seen a counsellor before, so I don't know how this works. I am a public figure, so just coming here is risky. If the press found out I was seeing a shrink, it would be all over the papers. I need some assurance that anything I tell you won't leave this room.

Jacob's expression was professional. "Of course. Thanks for raising that. Anything you say in here stays with me unless you give me express permission to share it, for example, with another doctor. My notes stay in the file cabinet, which I keep locked. It's critical that my patients feel safe enough to talk to me openly about anything they need to. I think of it as a privilege that people tell me things they wouldn't tell anyone else, and take their privacy very seriously."

Malcolm nodded, taking it in, but obviously trust would have to be earned.

"So, when Sam called to make the appointment, she filled me in a little about what's been going on." Sam nodded, suddenly feeling nervous herself. She worried that Malcolm would think she'd told Jacobs about everything, when she'd only given a very high-level view of the current situation.

"I understand from Sam you were hospitalised recently with pneumonia, and in the course of your treatment or perhaps from other events, some old memories have been triggered, and you've had some difficulty as a result. Is that correct?"

Malcolm nodded. "I suppose you could put it that way. I've always tried to deal with the present. That's the only place you can make a difference, right? Never seen any up-side to dwelling on the past." Sam saw his attention visibly shift inward. He broke eye contact with Jacobs and had a thoughtful expression. When he next spoke, Sam heard the telltale signs of emotion in his voice.

"But just lately, I've had some things happen that churned things up. And now I find I don't have much control over it. I have nightmares. Always had those, but now I have them all the time.

"Yesterday I had something else happen. I was at a party, watching what was going on and all of a sudden I was six years old again and back in Glasgow. It felt so real. And it happened in an instant. I can't imagine that's a good thing." Sam squeezed his hand again. She knew this was hard for him.

Jacobs sat back in his chair, which creaked. "I understand from Sam that you had a difficult childhood. She didn't go into detail, but thought I should know. Can you tell me a little about it?"

Malcolm took a deep breath. Sam knew he was getting tired of talking about it.

"My father was abusive. He did some pretty horrible things."

"Are you an only child?"

"No. I'm the oldest of three. My sister, Julia, is five years my junior. And my brother, Duncan, was born when I was twelve. He died when he was two years old at my father's hands."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. How did it happen?" Jacob's tone was sincere. Malcolm sighed. With the exception of the night they had looked at the trial coverage together, Sam had never heard Malcolm talk about Duncan's death.

"From the news coverage, it turns out my father bound him and force-fed him cleaning agents, and then left him to die. It's possible he watched. I dunno."

Jacobs didn't say anything. Sam glanced up at Malcolm. His eyes were very distant and downcast. The silence went on for a while. Malcolm finally cleared his throat and continued.

"I remember waiting up back at the flat while my Mum and Da were at hospital with Duncan. Then they came home and told us. From there I have no memory of what happened, but apparently I beat my Da badly enough that he was in hospital for several days. I came to myself in gaol. I couldn't lift my right arm because I'd hit him so hard." Malc still had that strange, distant look. Sam squeezed his hand. He didn't squeeze back.

"What happened then?" Jacobs primed. Malcolm shook himself, as if to cast off a nightmare.

"They kept me for a few days. There was a caseworker who came by and asked me questions. They examined me and found a lot of bruises from my Da. Turns out Julia-my sister, that is, had gone to our Gran and told her everything. Gran took her to talk to the police. After that, they released me, and Julia and I went to live with Gran in Perth during the inquiry. My father was convicted for killing Duncan. He died in prison. I never visited him."

"It sounds like you had a very eventful childhood. How do you find that's effected you?"

"Two weeks ago, I would have told you that it didna effect me at all. No, wait. Two weeks ago, I wouldna have even admitted any of it happened. But now it's always coming up. I canna get away from it. I dinna feel safe." Sam could hear tears in his voice and her eyes welled up.

"Give me some examples of how it's effecting you now."

Malcolm swiped at an eye. "Well, there are the nightmares, like I mentioned. There's one in particular that I've had since I was six. It's so bad I come out of it fighting. I even hit Sam once accidentally.

"It's a strain on our marriage." Sam started to protest but Malc stopped her with a shaky hand on her arm. "We've been married ten years, and all this time I never told Sam anything about my childhood. Wouldna consider having kids, though I know she wanted them. Had surgery so I couldna have kids. She only just heard about that last bit."

"I have some scarring in my lungs from something my Da did to me. It's causing problems. Getting a biopsy next week."

"And recently some little limp-dick tosser got a hold of the press coverage from my father's trial when I was fourteen. He's going to get it out in the media, I think. Wants to get me out of Number Ten. It's a vendetta.

"Because of that, I finally came forward to the police about something I witnessed when I was a kid. Talking to the CID's really got me in a state. The more I talk to them, the more I remember. It's crowding everything else out."

"What are you feeling right now?" An angry tear rolled down Malcolm's cheek. He wiped it away impatiently.

"What does it _feel_ like? Like my whole fucking world is ending, that's what. Every time I think it's over and things are going to get back to normal something else happens and brings it all up again. And now people know about it. Sam. Julia, Jamie, my mate. Julius. Even the fucking Prime Minister knows. I hate it. Soon everyone will know and there will be lots of swirl. Press attention. Speculation about me. I could end up out of a job over it."

In the course of this recitation, Malc's breathing had picked up. Sam felt his pulse throbbing in the hand she was holding. The vein at his temple was standing out. He armed perspiration from his brow.

Jacob watched all this without comment. When it was clear Malcolm couldn't go on, Jacobs spoke up. "I'd like you to lean back and do some deep breathing." Sam noticed that Malcolm was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, obviously tense. He seemed to become aware of it as well, and leaned back with an explosive sigh. "Why don't you close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. Try to slow it down."

Malcolm's face showed his judgment. "What, are you going to fucking hypnotise me?"

"Just try to relax and breathe for a minute. You should start to feel better soon."

Sam rubbed Malc's forearm while he did as the doctor said, leaning back in the chair and breathing slowly. Sam could feel the tension leave his arm and saw his shoulders and neck relax. Jacobs took notes, glanced at his watch, and then returned his attention to Malcolm.

"How are you feeling now?" Malcolm opened his eyes.

"Better, I think. Not so stressed."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

"So, where do we go from here, Doc?"

Jacob considered a moment before responding. "Before we go there I'd like to process what you just shared. It sounds like there are a lot of things going on. You've worked hard to forget about your childhood. You've done such a good job of divorcing yourself from what happened when you were a kid that even you don't know the whole story. And now you've got some significant stressors that are triggering vivid memories. We call those flashbacks.

"And it sounds like you've got some immediate needs. Certainly your health and the biopsy, and also this threat of your past becoming public knowledge and used against you. And also seeing this police investigation through.

"I think we should spend some time today on those immediate needs, and then firm up plans for another visit.

"Earlier, when I asked you how your past is effecting you now you said you didn't feel safe. I can see why. You've got this past that you've protected and covered up your whole adult life. And now you're facing it on three fronts. The medical front, where you can no longer ignore that what your father did to you had lasting effects. The social one, where people who have seen you a certain way will suddenly learn things about you that will change their perception of you. As a public figure, that's got to feel scary."

"No fucking kidding." Jacob ignored the expletive.

"And then having to sacrifice safety to come forward as a witness. We'll call that social responsibility. Again, as a public figure that's huge. I can't imagine what that's like, and I admire your bravery."

Malcolm looked surprised at that.

"So now we've got to figure out what you can do given those situations to reduce the stress around them and create a little safety for yourself." Jacobs turned to Sam.

"Sam, you've been co-voyaging through all this with Malcolm. What's your perspective on things?"

Sam felt a little caught out. She wasn't expecting the question.

"That's a big question, doctor. I don't really know what to say. Malcolm's been through a lot. We've been through a lot. It's been hard. I want to step in and fix everything and there's not a thing I can do. I'm very worried about Malcolm's health and what all this upheaval is doing to him. I'm scared about what happens from here. But I'm so relieved he's finally talking to me about things and letting me in."

"Is there anything you want to tell Malcolm right now?" Sam did. Her eyes filled with tears as she turned towards him.

"Malcolm, I'm so proud of you for coming forward to the police and allowing yourself to remember all this old hurt. It's not fair that you had to go through all that alone. I wish I could've been there for you when you were a kid dealing with all that. I wish I could make your lungs better. I wish I could make Steve stop trying to ruin your life. But I can't." After a good cry she managed to pull herself together. Malcolm dug out his handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. His eyes were also red-rimmed.

"Malcolm, it's clear that Sam is behind you all the way. What can she do to help you create some safety?"

"She's already doing it."

"Why don't you tell her." Malcolm turned to her and clasped her hand.

"There's no way I could've gotten through everything that's happened without you, Sam. You are my angel. You take such good care of me, even though I'm such a bastard. I don't deserve you. Thanks for sticking with me all these years when I wasn't talking about things, and now that it's all coming out."

"What do you need from Sam?"

"Please don't give up on me. Things are hard right now, but I want things to go back to the way they were. I want to take care of you and show you how much I love you." He fingered her wedding ring. Sam struggled not to lose it again.

"Sam, what do you need from Malcolm?" This time, Sam was anticipating the question.

"I need you to take care of yourself. I'm scared for you, and I don't want to lose you. All these years, you've put work first, and me next, and you last. During this last reshuffle, I was worried about you and didn't step in and then you collapsed. You nearly died. I can't go through that again. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I want you to feel better and treat yourself better."

"Malcolm, what do you have to say about that?"

Malcolm sighed. The look of remorse on his face told the whole story. "I'm sorry about all this, Sam. I know I need to take better care. I'm trying. And I heard what the doc said about gaining the weight. I'll do better."

Jacob referred back to his notes. "You mentioned a few other people who know about your childhood. One of them was your friend, Jamie."

"Yeah. He's my second at work, but we're also friends."

"So what can you ask Jamie to do to help you feel more safe during the current crisis?"

"Again, he's already doing it. He's the one who organised my meeting with the police and some friendly press as a contingency. He's always offering to help. But I worry about him. He's got his own challenges to attend to."

"Have you talked to him about how you're feeling about everything." Malcolm snorted.

"Nae. It's not a fuckin bromance. We're mates. We don't talk about stuff like that." Sam found that interesting. She was pretty sure they did talk about stuff like that. Or at least Jamie did.

"It sounds like he's a good friend. You've trusted him with a lot. How do you think he'd react if you told him you were worried about things?"

"I think he'd go pound the shit out of Steve Fleming, that's what I think. Oh, that's the limp-dick tosser I mentioned before. Jamie tends to get a little over-protective and fly off the handle. I wouldna want to say anything that would touch him off. I'll think about it, doc, but I've got to be careful." Something in doctor Jacob's eyes shifted. Sam wondered if he was filing something away to explore in a later session.

"So you've got Sam and Jamie as your support system. Anyone else?"

"I've got Julia, my sister. She was here when I was in hospital. But she's got two kids and lives in Edinburgh." Sam couldn't help jumping in on that.

"Malc, Julia would do anything for you." Malcolm winced, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of putting anyone out.

"Anyone else?"

Malcolm thought about it. "There's also Julius. A co-worker. He's been very helpful during some of the recent unpleasantness. More than I would have expected."

"I bet if you thought about it, you could come up with even more people who would be happy to help you." Jacob let that sink in before continuing.

"Sometimes it's hard to see that people who care about you are genuinely happy to help because the idea of asking for help feels scary."

"I don't want to be a burden. It's not fair to Sam and Julia and Jamie that they've had to drop everything for me. I feel like I can never make it up to them."

"Malc, no one's asking you to make anything up. There's nothing to make up for."

"Between now and when we next meet I would like you to consider who's on your support team. And I'm a part of your support team, too."

"Yes, but you're paid to do it."

"True. So that means you don't have to worry about putting me out or owing me something." Malcolm grunted at that. Good point, Sam mused.

"I would like to see you again early next week. Check with my receptionist on the way out to make the appointment." Jacob scribbled something on a prescription blank, tore it off and pushed it across the desk to Malcolm. Malcolm looked at it speculatively.

"That's an order for an anti-anxiety medication. It will help you manage during stressful situations like that flashback you had. It also might help you sleep. Let's try that for a week and see if it helps."

"No, Doc. I'm drawing the line there. I donna take happy pills. Sorry. But that deep breathing helped earlier, so thanks. I'll do that more."

"Malc-" As expected, Malcolm cut her off.

"No, Sam, I willna do it. It's just an escape."

"Malcolm." Jacob waited until Malcolm calmed down and gave his full attention.

"Remember earlier when I asked Sam what she needed from you and she said she needed you to take better care of yourself?"

"Yeah, but-"

"This is part of that. It's just temporary, to help with your current stressful situations. You're having flashbacks and nightmares that are so bad once you even hit your wife. Do you want to take the chance of that ever happening again?"

Malcolm took a moment to respond, obviously chastened. "Of course not. No. Sorry. I'll try the meds. But just a week."

"We'll see where we are in a week."

Jacob walked them out to reception and shook both of their hands again. They made Malcolm's next appointment and headed downstairs to the chemist.


	52. Chapter 52

**Author's Note:**

Here's a short one to kick off the weekend. It's still Friday in Reshuffle land. We're with Jamie in this chapter, and will be back with Malcolm, Sam and Ollie in the next chapter or so. It's been quiet and I really love to hear from you. Whether you leave a comment or not, I hope you're still engaged in the story and enjoy this chapter.

* * *

The shitty little weasel left the building with a hurried, self-important step, studying his Blackberry, leather messenger bag draped over one shoulder. Jamie had no problem surprising him. He grasped him casually but assertively by the elbow and steered him around the corner into the alley.

"Steve Fleming. Just the bloke I was looking for. I need a word."

The ex-enforcer's expression of outrage with an undertone of fear was just what Jamie needed. " _Excuse_ me? What is this? I have a car coming."

Jamie sized up the man. It had been a while since he'd seen him, aside from the brief cameo at the PFI building during the meet the new minister event.

He was a good five inches shorter than Jamie, round-shouldered and potbellied, wearing a somewhat ratty trench coat over his office attire. Jamie remembered the cheesy mustache, which made him think of the 1970's. He smelled of aftershave applied a mite too heavily, with perhaps an undertone of last night's whiskey. Nice.

"Jamie McDonald. I work with Malcolm." A look of recognition came into Fleming's eyes.

"Of course. I remember you. Tucker's fuck-monkey, isn't that right? Is he pimping you out yet, or just keeping you for himself? You're out of your league, McDonald. Did Tucker put you up to this or did you take it upon yourself to protect your sugar daddy? Can't fight his own battles, can he? Well, that's his style. Distance himself from the stink while his minions slave away in the sewers."

Jamie felt the switch flip in his head and was glad. He grasped the front of Fleming's trench coat and pulled him in close. Correction: the whiskey was from this morning, not last night.

"Malcolm's twelve times the man you are, and I willna have you speak of him that way to me. You're a real fucking prince, you know it?"

For a moment, his grip tightened to the point where his knuckles dug into Fleming's flabby chest. Jamie forced his hands to unclench and release him. He pushed him roughly up against the building, looming over him. Jamie knew just how intimidating he could be and he leveraged the whole package.

"Listen, you little fuck. I know what you're doing and it stops right now. If you think any legitimate media will pick up anything from you, think again. You have no voice, no credentials whatsoever, and no fucking personality." Fleming leaned into the side of the building and away from Jamie, straightening out his jacket with jerky movements.

Jamie saw a myriad of emotions fly across Fleming's face: anger, fear, shame, and back to anger. Spittle flew as he delivered his response.

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we? I don't think you know as much as you think you do, Jamie McFarland. And _clearly_ you don't know who you're messing with."

"Oh, I know plenty. Like the details of the suit you settled out of court with Roth's ex. 1.5 million pounds. That's quite a sum. Do you think you will ever get that lien off of your house? Would be hard to do when you're odd-jobbing it with the Nutters. Maybe you're the one who needs to find a better pimp." Fleming's face went scarlet.

"That's confidential information. And you don't know anything about it. Now I've got to go." Jamie stepped in front of Steve, barring his progress toward the street and the supposedly awaiting car.

"If you don't drop any further action against Malcolm, if you put _one_ _fucking_ toe out of line, I shit you not, the details of that civil suit and your current financial situation are going public, and will circulate through Number Ten and all of Westminster. You will never live it down. Count on it."

Now there were tears in the ex-enforcer's eyes. A vein pulsed in the middle of his brow. Jamie wondered if he'd try to land a blow. He almost hoped he did. That would give him the justification he needed to kick his ass square.

"You-you-fucking-overgrown…you fucking cock-sucker!" The man couldn't even swear properly. "You're going to regret ever taking me on! You've fucked with the wrong man, McDonald!"

Jamie didn't respond. Instead, he smiled and stepped out of the fucker's way. Fleming's mad, trampling exit probably wasn't what he'd hoped for. He tripped on an upraised bit of pavement and nearly lost his messenger bag. Finally recovering, he stamped back into the street, hailing a passing cab.

Jamie left the alley and turned right on Cowley Street, cheeks flushed and heart racing. He spied a pub and on impulse pushed through the door. Black spots danced before his eyes.

"Help you, sir?"

Jamie became aware he had reached the bar and looked up at the barkeep who stood in front of a vast array of enticing bottles. It all looked too good. Jamie's mouth was suddenly dry. He licked his lips.

"Gotta special on malt."

 _Fuck me._ "Nae, we'll have a club soda, mate, thanks." The barkeep blinked, then nodded and turned to fetch the beverage. Jamie sighed and pulled out his Blackberry.

His first call was to Bev, who didn't pick up. He left an innocuous message, one that didn't capture the true reason for his call, and implied that he was thinking of her. Which, technically, he really was.

His next call was to Malcolm. Sam picked up, even though he'd dialed Malc's Blackberry.

"Jamie, hi. Is everything okay?"

"Hi Sam. Yeah. Everything's fine. Is Malc free?"

"Not right now. He's meeting with Ollie. Can he call you back?"

"Oh, no, that's fine. Just calling to check in and see how his doctor visit went. No need for him to call me back. I'm sure I will connect with him over the weekend."

"Are you sure? You don't sound so good." Jamie felt his eyes well up even as he smiled.

"No, I'm great. Just a stressful day. I'm fine, really. Could you just let him know that I called?"

"I will, Jamie." Sam still sounded as if she didn't believe him. "The doctor visit went well, but I'll let him tell you about it. Call tonight or tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, Sam. Take care."

They rang off. Jamie glanced around the bar and then at his watch. He decided to call it an early day and go home. If Bev still wasn't back, maybe he'd surprise her by getting dinner going. He had a sip of his club soda – awful stuff – left a few bills on the bar and banged back out the door, headed for the tube.


	53. Chapter 53

**Author's Note:**

We're with Sam in this chapter, and Malcolm and Ollie in the next. There is a lot going on Friday afternoon in Reshuffle land. Happy Memorial Day weekend to readers in the US, and I hope readers across the pond had a wonderful Spring Bank Holiday. As always, reviews are appreciated.

* * *

Sam shut the door to Malc's office and returned to his desk. She was at Number Ten for the afternoon while he met with Ollie at home. She'd spent that last two hours organising his calendar now that they knew he would be back in the office part-time starting Monday. With that done, she decided it would be better to return Peel's call from the office, rather than from home.

He had called Malcolm's Blackberry while they were at lunch. Sam still had possession of the device and was glad of that when she listened to the messages. Malcolm definitely didn't need to be dealing with any of them today.

It took more prodding than usual to get him to Guiseppe's for lunch. Once there, he refused to take the prescription to help his appetite, asserting that it might make him sleepy and he needed to be alert for his meeting with Ollie. They had already agreed that he should hold off on the anti-anxiety medication until after dinner, as that one had dire warnings on the label about drowsiness and operating heavy machinery the first few days on the drug. To Sam's knowledge, Malcolm had never had anything stronger than paracetamol, and he only took that when he was at death's door, so she thought it likely these new medications would have a strong effect on him.

He seemed wrung out after the appointment with Jacobs. It had been a long morning with the two appointments back-to-back, and at this point he was also seriously sleep-deprived. Sam didn't think he'd gotten more than four hours of sleep on any night since he got home from hospital.

Conversation faltered while they waited for their food. After trying several different topics and receiving one-syllable answers, Sam gave up.

"Malcolm, talk to me. What's going on?"

He sighed heavily. _Oh boy_ , Sam thought, _this could be big_.

"Sam, I think – maybe instead of going back to work Monday I should resign."

She didn't see that coming. " _What?_ Malc, why?" His expression confirmed he was serious. He looked like a man who was anticipating doing the hardest thing he'd ever done.

"Fleming's not going to stop. I didn't tell you, but yesterday he texted me. Things are going to get very ugly and every time I think about it, I just want to fall in a hole and fucking vanish. This is going to make things hard for everybody, not just me. You'll be hounded by the tabloids, wanting to know if I'm bent, or a tyrant to live with. Julia's going to get attention, too. And it will be really bad from a popularity perspective for the PM. You know we're only just barely in Number Ten as it is, and it won't take much to tip things over."

A boisterous party in back of their table roared with laughter for a few moments. Sam waited until the noise died down before she responded.

"Didn't you take in anything from our time with doctor Jacobs? Malcolm, you've got a lot of people who support you. You've helped so many people along the way, both in the Party and in the media. If Steve tries to take those _Glasgow Daily_ articles public, no one will listen. Even if he manages to get them out, no one will take it seriously. It's wrong."

Malcolm smoothed the white tablecloth, his eyes distant.

"No matter what happens, Malc, you're still the same person. Steve can't turn you into a villain."

"But the PM-"

"Backed you against Steve."

"I know, but-"

"What's the worst thing that can happen?"

"I'll get sacked. The press will be all over us. I will have no credentials with the party. People will think I'm a paedophile. I won't be able to get work. I mean, what the fuck would I do?" A passing server gave a sharp look at the profanity. Sam rescued the hand that was obsessively smoothing the tablecloth and held it.

"You could be a director at any media agency in all of the UK, Malc. You could be a communications consultant. Write a book. Go on the BBC as a political commentator. Shall I keep going?

"I know this is scary. But you're too good a man to let Steve ruin you. We'll get through this. I love you."

Their food arrived and Sam steered the conversation away from serious topics. Malc played along, and did seem to lighten up. By the end of lunch they were bickering about just how much time Malcolm really needed to be in the office next week. While Sam held firm on minimising his time in the office, she smiled inwardly at the evidence that he'd moved away from the idea of stepping down.

"Peel, hi, this is Sam Tucker returning your call." It felt odd to refer to the Detective Chief Inspector by his last name, but that's what he'd said to do and Sam couldn't remember his first name at the moment. There was a delay before he answered.

"Sam, hi. Sorry, I thought I'd left a message on Malcolm's mobile."

"No, you did, but I confiscated it for the time being. Lots going on. Too much, in fact, and he needs to focus on getting better. For now, I'm taking his calls." Sam knew her tone was a little brisk, and Peel probably didn't deserve it.

"Has he had a turn for the worse?" Peel's tone was concerned.

"No, not physically, but he has a biopsy next week and needs to rest up for that." Another pause before he responded.

"Well, I have an update on the investigation, and also some more questions for Malcolm based on what's turned up in Glasgow."

Sam felt her face flush in anger. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to hold off on further questions for Malcolm, and you can give the update to me."

"Sam, has something happened?" Peel really did sound concerned. Sam tried to visualise him sitting at a desk somewhere in The Met, maybe leaning forward, his expression full of care, as it had been during their last meeting. _His name's Philip_ , Sam recalled.

"Look, since he's been talking to you lot everything's gotten stirred up. There's also some political swirl. He's really struggling. I'm sorry, but for now he's off-limits."

"Well then, let me give you an update. We've made considerable progress in the case. If Police Strathclyde is anything, it's diligent. It's a lot to go through over the phone so I will save that for another time, but I can tell you there is a very strong circumstantial case against Alistair Tucker for at least six child disappearances."

Sam swallowed. It took a moment for what Peel said to clear the circuits. "Six? Are you sure?"

"We're fairly sure, but nothing is absolutely certain. Like I said, it's a strong circumstantial case. He was a suspect back in the seventies, and the investigation team interviewed him on more than one occasion, but in the end there was no hard evidence. And then there was another disappearance when Alistair was already at Barnlinnie, so the investigation went down another path.

"But now we may have forensic evidence that links Alistair to several of the missing boys. The types of forensic testing we have today are much more sophisticated than what was available back then. Among other things, they found an article of children's clothing that matched the description of what Colin Clatcher was wearing the day of his disappearance. Donovan showed it to Mrs. Clatcher and she positively identified it. Now it's on its way to the lab for testing."

Sam's stomach was in knots. All along, she was sure at some point they would find proof that Malcolm's father killed Colin, but now that the day was here, Sam wished she'd never urged Malcolm to come forward.

"Wow. That's – a lot." She didn't really know what else to say.

"The thing is Police Strathclyde needs to get a press update out. Fiona Clatcher is very hopeful about the break in the case. When she saw the article of clothing she got quite emotional, as you can imagine, and has already spoken with her family and friends and the carers at the home she lives in. We can be pretty close about the details for the moment, but very soon our Glasgow folks will start to get pressure from the community to provide details. I would like to meet with Malcolm before that happens – both to make sure he's as prepared as possible and to follow up on a few questions to fill in some holes."

Sam thought of how stressed Malcolm was during the Jacobs appointment, and how downcast he was at lunch. After the Ollie meeting, she doubted he'd have the resiliency to deal with this.

"Look, Malcolm really can't hear about this today. He just can't. Can you give us the weekend?"

"I would like to send you the press announcement. We'd like to get it out in the evening edition tonight. Is that okay?"

Sam provided her email address. Peel sent the announcement immediately and she read it and approved it while they were still on the phone. After she rang off she saw a new text had come in. It was from Steve Fleming.


	54. Chapter 54

**Author's Note:**

Here's a long chapter. Malcolm meets with Ollie. It's still Friday afternoon.

* * *

 **MALCOLM**

"Jamie, you need to take your phone off mute. I'm going to keep leaving messages until you call me back. Don't do anything with Fleming. I mean it. Really. And if you're worried about me, don't be."

 **MALCOLM**

"I'm back from the doctor's. I'm free until my 14:00 with Ollie. Call me. Don't forget it's the home number – Sam has my cell."

* * *

Reeder fiddled with the spoon in his coffee, obviously uncomfortable. Malcolm smiled inwardly. He'd surprised the junior adviser on the front stoop when he opened the door before Ollie even rang the bell. Malcolm had heard the car service pull to the curb and drop him off. Malcolm mentally thanked Sam again for talking him out of resigning. With that out of the way, he was back to plan and eager to continue working with Reeder.

Before this morning's appointments, Malcolm had felt so beaten. What happened at Morgan's party shook him to his foundation. Flashbacks, Jacobs said. Before today, Malcolm thought that was something only combat veterans and drug addicts experienced. And now he, too, could enjoy the suspense of never knowing when he might suddenly time travel back to the miserable days of his past. Who knew what else might suddenly and dramatically emerge from his childhood to haunt him in the present?

The idea of something like that happening while he was at the office was unthinkable. He imagined the many permutations of what that might look like. What if he was meeting with the PM and he suddenly went into a flashback? Or was in a cabinet meeting? Or in front of the christing press pack? By the time he and Sam got home from the party Malcolm knew he would have to step aside.

And then he had the call with Jamie this morning. He knew from the way the call ended that the dumb fuck picked up on it and was going to do something stupid. He regretted not doing more to conceal his downcast mood when Jamie had such a strong reaction, and he worried about what might transpire as a result.

Malcolm had gone a ways down the road in planning his resignation. He was going to tell Jamie first, and then call the PM. He'd even gone so far as to line up his security badge, desk keys and other things he'd need to turn in, and tried to estimate whether he could fit all of his personal belongings from the office in one box or two. But after Jacob's pep talk about having a support system and then his talk with Sam at lunch, Malcolm renewed his resolve to not let the bastard win.

Sam had said he was too good a man to let Fleming destroy him. That made him think of Roth, who had been on his mind a lot lately, for obvious reasons. And he got really mad. And anger was a galvanising force as long as you knew what to do with it.

Sam was at Number Ten for a few hours. She decided to go in and do some advance work on his calendar now that they knew he'd be in the office at least part-time next week.

They debated just how much time Malcolm would be in the office and which of his routine meetings really were critical, versus the ones he could handle by phone or have Jamie pick up. Not surprisingly, Malcolm felt he needed to be in the office more and Sam felt he could hand off more to Jamie.

Mindful of the wrap-up at the Jacobs appointment, Malcolm didn't press too hard. He knew Sam was just concerned for him and wanted to make sure he didn't work too much. But he felt incredibly out of the loop even though Jamie had done a great job of keeping him up to date on things. With the recent drama and nearly two weeks away from the office, Malcolm wanted to reestablish himself with the PM, ministers and comms team as soon as possible.

If Steve made a press spectacle of him, at least if he were back in the office he'd be at ground zero, demonstrating to everyone who mattered that he was the same old cranky, crusty, foul-mouthed indispensible Tucker. And maybe the happy pills from Jacobs would help him pull that off. He really didn't want to take the pills. But he _really_ didn't want to malfunction in public.

"Are you going to say something?"

Malcolm snapped out of his reverie and realised that Ollie was still sitting across from him, expectantly.

"Sorry, my mind wandered. Coffee okay?"

"Yep, thanks." Reeder still looked like he didn't know what to expect.

"How was your week?" Malcolm's tone was gruffer than it probably needed to be. Ollie startled a little.

"Fine. It was fine. Nicola had a press event over the new immigration policy."

"Yes, I saw that. Looked like it went well."

"It did."

"Good. Glad to hear it. You were there, then?" Ollie nodded.

"Jamie, too. It was tape delay, you know."

"Right. How many takes were there?"

"Four. Not too bad. I thought it would take much longer, but she was ready and seemed fairly confident."

"She'll never look good in front of a camera."

"No."

"But that's okay. If she looked like a swimsuit model no one would take her seriously. It's a good thing that she's got character."

"Right." Conversation was just barely limping along.

"I heard from Jamie that you're helping Tom out in Transport. How's that going?"

"Okay. Just okay, I'd say. We got off to a good start, but then he doesn't really listen, does he?"

"No, he really does, but what he doesn't do is act. He's a smart guy. Just lazy."

They discussed tactics Ollie could use to keep the minister on track. The biggest priority was getting him staffed up again, and this time having people on his team who could keep him on task. Gradually, Ollie loosened up and seemed less guarded. Finally, as they neared the half hour mark, Malcolm shifted the conversation away from business. Time to start building some trust.

"Ollie, I'd like to apologise for the way I handled it when you told me about Fleming. I was sharper with you than I should have been." Ollie sat up straighter and cleared his throat, obviously surprised.

"No, you were fine. I'm just, erm, sorry for what I did. It was really childish. I had no idea what kind of trouble I was starting."

Malcolm smiled a little. _No shit._ "It's often that way when we're angry, isn't it? Anger dumbs us down. It puts blinders on us. I've made a lot of bad decisions when I was angry, and had to live with them." When Reeder was silent, Malcolm pressed on.

"For example, there was the time when Nicola was fresh in office. I think it might even have been her first day. I was already pissed off before I met with her. There were actually quite a few names ahead of her, but they all disqualified themselves or declined the role. I had a lot of pressure from the PM to get all the slots filled. I mean, it's his fucking cabinet, his job to fill these roles, but he's a hands off kind of guy." Ollie was leaning forward, engaged in the story.

"So I didna do a very good job of vetting her because she was the last name on the list. Then, when I come round to meet with her on her first day I find out her husband's with PFI, so there's one red flag, and that her daughter's in some posh private school. Strike two. On top of it all, she's coming across right off the mark as a flaming neurotic, and now I will look bad because I'm the one that brought her in.

"So I was mad, and the Liam Bentley thing came up. I was watching on tellie and saw the opportunity with the sign. You remember?" Ollie nodded. "I called you and told you to get her to move closer to the sign.

"There she is, first day in office, with a viral video of her standing under a sign that looks like it says 'I am bent.' That's what I did. Like I said, I was angry. I thought, 'let's just take her down a peg. Give her a dose of humility.'"

"And it did. You should've seen her. She was a mess."

"I did see her. And I've seen her ever since, struggle every time she gets in front of a camera. But I ask myself now, would she have the same problem if that hadn't been her first experience ever in front of a camera?" Ollie blinked.

"No Malcolm, she's really quite bad. That's not your fault. I think she came to it honestly enough."

"I disagree. Did you know your boss is a stage actress? Seriously. She is. Community theatre from secondary school up until she took office. I saw it on her CV. I actually went and saw her in one of her last performances. She doesna know it, so don't tell her. She was really quite good. Again, no fashion model, but she had a strong presence on stage. Got a standing ovation and flowers at the end.

"We don't think about the consequences of our actions when we're angry. I'm sure when you found the articles about my father it never even crossed your mind how it might effect me if you made them public. Sure, you wanted to humiliate me, perhaps get me to step down. But I doubt you really considered the human element. You were angry. Dumbed down. Operating without a brain. And that's why I forgive you. You didn't know what you were doing. But now you do, right?"

Ollie nodded. "Right."

"So we need to come up with some strategies you can use when you get angry so you don't do anything that stupid ever again."

They talked through things Ollie could do when he got angry. Malcolm suggested he first focus on recognising when he was going into the red zone, and delay any decisions or actions.

"You've got to put yourself in time out. You know what time out is?"

"When a child is misbehaving, the parent will put them in time out instead of beating them silly."

"Right. Wish my father had done that, just once, even. Time out for you means you can't take any action while you're angry. Instead, I want you to call either Jamie or me and talk about it. We'll help you slow things down and think it through. Eventually, you'll get good at slowing things down for yourself and getting outside of the situation so you can really see what's going on. For now, think of Jamie and me as your lifeline."

"Okay. Thanks. I think that will help me. Only I'm worried about Jamie. I think maybe he's overdue for a time out."

Malcolm was pleased that Ollie had noticed.

"Fleming, right? Jamie told me he'd gotten you digging into things, and I told him to cease and desist. You're right. Jamie's got his own anger issues. I'm glad you saw that. Did you tell him you were concerned about him?"

"Well, no, because he scares the piss out of me. And I also really wanted to get back at Fleming for being so shitty with me when I tried to get him to stop."

"Give it up as a bad job. Something like that becomes an arms race, and before you know it, it's Armageddon."

"Malcolm, why is there such animosity between you and Fleming? I asked Jamie and he told me to ask you."

Malcolm's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected that question. _Fuck._ He breathed a moment and then returned his gaze to the junior adviser. Ollie looked back. From the open expression on his face, Malcolm surmised he truly wanted to understand why this was all such a big deal. _This is about being vulnerable and building trust_ , he reminded himself.

"Okay. That's a fair question. I'll do my best to answer it honestly. But this is hard, Ollie.

"Steve Fleming and I worked together years ago, back when I was Editor at _The Guardian_. He was a diligent hack who could also write great political commentary. When I moved into Communications for the Labour party, Steve and I worked together from time to time, across the table. As luck would have it, things went well for me, and I moved up into the Director role and brought Steve on as my second. This was before the PM was party leader."

"Was it when Andrew Roth was leader?" _Full marks, Ollie. And here I thought you were just a political dilettante._

"That's right, and we were the opposition party. I'd worked behind the scenes to help position Andy so he could be the next PM. Three years out, I used my connections to make sure he had all the right experiences, and ample opportunities to demonstrate that he was the man for the job. And Andy was a great guy. He was so authentic. Easy to work with. No surprises. He said what he'd do and did what he said. He would have made a great PM – nothing against the current one, of course."

"What happened?" Malcolm sighed. He felt the tightness of emotion in his throat and tried not to show it.

"Fleming fucking happened. And it was my own fault for bringing him in and trusting him. I thought he was with me on getting Andy to the top spot. I thought we were on the same page. But it turned out that behind the scenes, he was working against me. Andy was party leader, and the political climate really favored the Labour Party for the upcoming election. Steve had feelers out, looking for dirt. And finally, he found what he was looking for.

"It was an old affair. In his earlier days, it turns out that Andy had a dalliance while traveling. Got a girl pregnant, and had an under-the-table arrangement to provide support. Gretchen never knew about it."

"That was his wife?"

"Yes. Steve leaked the story and _The Mirror_ picked it up. Before long, it was on the front cover of every paper and top of the hour on BBC. This was before the PA cleaned up its act. There are more controls in place with the legitimate media these days.

"The fallout was huge. Gretchen left Andy and took the kids. The publicity was so bad that Andy had to step down. It was brutal. He was a wreck." Malcolm gathered himself for the next bit. If he was going to share this story with Ollie, he needed to share the whole thing. Open kimono. And he already felt tapped out.

"Ollie, I've never told anyone some of what I'm about to tell you. It's very hard to talk about, so bear with me."

Ollie looked nervous. "Okay."

"Andy was sort of a mentor to me. We were close. When I first got into politics, I had some rough edges – not at all the suave, mild-mannered enforcer who sits before you today." That got a grin from Ollie.

"He helped me. Called me out on my bad behavior and forced me to own it. I don't think I'd have ever gotten into this role if it weren't for Andy. And I was grateful to him. I would do anything for him.

"I went and saw Andy the night he died. He had holed himself up in The Royal Trafalgar for three days. When I got there, he was red faced and pie-eyed. There were empty bottles everywhere. He hadn't bathed or changed his clothes. He'd lost weight because he'd stopped eating. Here he is in this posh hotel, looking like he'd just rolled out of the gutter.

"Losing his family was the end of him. He just didn't see the point of going on. He told me the affair was a one-nighter, and he regretted it immediately. Never did anything like that again. He loved Gretchen and the kids.

"Steve had been at him for quite a while before he leaked the affair to the press. He tried to blackmail Andy into stepping aside. This was apparently over a period of weeks. Fleming has this way of slowly getting under your skin and festering there. Have you ever heard of Komodo dragons?"

"Komodo dragons?" Ollie's expression was politely bewildered.

"Yes. Komodo dragons. They're these huge fucking lizards that live in the Indonesian islands. I saw a thing about them on one of those nature shows by Sir David. In the show, this Komodo dragon picked out a weak water buffalo from the herd and attacked. The water buffalo was way bigger, but the Komodo dragon's got venom that acts like an anticoagulant. It doesn't kill the prey right away. It takes days. Here's the water buffalo, getting weaker and weaker, and there's this family of Komodo dragons just following it, watching it, until it was finally too weak to move. Then, they swarmed in and ate it alive. That's Steve Fleming."

"So Steve Fleming is a lizard."

"Sure. Anyway, he worked on Andy and worked on Andy, and Andy finally got fed up and told him to fuck off. Said he'd tell Gretchen and go public on his own. That was the wrong thing to do.

"Steve got to Gretchen first. He also spread the story as a rumour among the ministers, and then he went to the press with it. I found all this out from Andy that night in the hotel room.

"What happened next?"

Malcolm sniffed and cleared his throat. Shit, he was tired. "I got him cleaned up and downstairs for a proper meal. Tried to talk some sense into him. Help him see he had a future. That this would all blow over, and he might even have a chance with Gretchen. And as the alcohol wore off, he seemed to pull himself together and be the old Andy. I only left after I was sure he was okay. He'd agreed to meet me for lunch next day and plan his way forward.

"I don't think he even waited an hour after I left. He had a packet of barbiturates from the chemist. He took them all. I called round the next day when he didna show for lunch. When I couldna get him to open the door I got the hotel staff to open it. He was quite dead. I should have known he had an exit strategy. I didna see it coming, but I should have."

"Malcolm, that's – awful. Horrible." For a moment Malcolm had forgotten Ollie was even in the room. He shook himself and had a drink of water. Dark times on memory lane. Maybe he should have started the happy pills at lunch.

"Why did Steve do it?"

"Oh, who's to say. Fleming's never been very stable. Even when we worked together at _The Guardian_ , he was always on the ragged edge. Any number of reasons. He wanted my job – still does, apparently. He thought he'd have a better chance at a career with the present PM, who was next in line after Andy. But I think it's more because he wanted my wife. Yes, Ollie, at the end of the day, this was all about Sam."


	55. Chapter 55

**Author's Note:**

Things are coming to a head. Lots cooking in this chapter. Have a nice weekend, and don't forget to leave a review!

* * *

 **STEVE FLEMING:** Breaking news tomorrow. This is the end for you. Eat shit and die, motherfucker.

Steve picked up before the first ring even completed.

"It's curtains, Malcolm! This time tomorrow it will all be over for you, you fucking cunt." Sam cringed. His words were horribly slurred.

"Steve, it's Sam." She heard him breathing on the other end of the line. It was a while before he responded.

" _Sam_."

"Steve, you've got to stop this. It's harassment. I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but it won't work."

"Sam, how are you?" His tone had changed considerably. It made the hair on her neck stand up.

"Really pissed off right now, that's how I am. And you're just pissed. When did you start drinking again?"

He side-stepped the question. "When are you going to leave that bastard, Sam? You deserve better. We should have been together." The idea still made her flesh crawl.

"No, Steve, that never would have worked. I wish you'd finally accept it. I love Malcolm." She heard a stifled sob at the other end of the line. God, how many times would they have to have this conversation?

"He took everything from me. He screwed me and left me with nothing."

"No he didn't, Steve. You screwed yourself. You could have been happy with Barbara, but instead you treated her like shit. You sabotaged that, just like you committed political suicide with Roth. And now – I don't know what you're doing now. You need help. Whatever you're doing, stop it. This is crazy."

"Too late. Too late, Sam. Malcolm should never have sent Jamie after me. I might have walked away before that, but now it's all coming out. I already gave the articles to the press. It's out of my hands. And I'm going to sit and watch your dear husband implode. I'm actually watching him right now. He's in the living room with that twat, Reeder. At least I think it's Reeder, hard to tell from here."

"You _what_?"

"Yes, I'm here. Why don't you come out? We can talk." Sam switched hands with the phone so she could dig in her purse for Peel's card.

"I'm not at home, Steve, and you need to leave. I'm calling the police." She hung up and then dialed 999.

* * *

Malcolm was taking the coffee things into the kitchen when the phone rang. Things had run long with Reeder, and he was surprised Sam wasn't back. He debated not answering it, but then figured it was probably Sam and didn't want her to worry. He caught it on the third ring.

"Thank God. Malc, is Ollie still there?" His heart skipped a beat when he heard the anxiety in her voice.

"He's in the toilet but he was just about to call the car service. Why? Are you okay?" Even as he said it, Ollie entered the kitchen, straightening his jumper.

"Don't let him go. Lock all the doors and stay away from the windows. Steve's outside the house somewhere. He's been watching you. I've called the police, and they're on their way."

 _Holy fuck._ "What – did you talk to him?" Ollie caught Malcolm's eye and motioned toward the door, asking if he should go. Malcolm shook his head emphatically as he moved to close the curtains in the living room.

"He texted you on your Blackberry and I called to tell him to stop. He's drinking again and completely off the rails. He said he was watching you and Ollie."

Malcolm parted the curtains slightly so he could see outside. He spied a police cruiser directly across the street, parked in back of an older looking sedan with the driver's side door open. Two officers were out of the cruiser talking to a noticeably disheveled Steve Fleming. Malcolm felt movement and saw that Ollie had come up behind him, peering out the window.

"The police are outside and I see Fleming. Are you okay? Are you coming home, Luv?" Malcolm's throat ached with concern for Sam.

Sam sighed with relief. "Yes, I'll be home directly, leaving the office now. See you soon."

Malc disconnected and found himself at the front door as if he'd teleported. He opened it and stepped out onto the front steps.

"Malcolm, maybe you need to put yourself in time out." Ollie had joined him at the door with a hand on his arm. Malc shrugged him off and stepped forward, not sure what he planned to do, but powered by a red hot rage. Ollie pulled him back toward the house. Malcolm stood his ground, but decided Ollie was right and made no further movement to the triad across the street.

Fleming was explaining something emphatically to the officers. Malcolm could hear the angry timbre of his voice and could tell that he was slurring his words. One officer noticed Malc and moved in front of Steve to block his view. But Steve noticed and then spied Malcolm. He went ballistic.

"You—you fucker! You're gonna pay! This time tomorrow, you're done! I hope you die, you sonofabitch!" His tirade continued as one officer forced Fleming's hands into plasticuffs while the other held him from behind.

Malcolm let Ollie maneuver him back into the house. His heart felt like it was going to explode. He realised he was suddenly very giddy. He plunked down heavily on the sofa.

"They're putting him in the back of the car. Hey, are you okay?" Ollie had turned his attention from the entryway window to Malcolm. The frightened concern in Reeder's voice prompted Malcolm to breathe and try to pull himself together.

He felt a hand on his back push him forward until his head was between his knees. "Get the fuck off," he tried to growl, but all that came out was a breathless gasp.

"You're white as a sheet. Are you having a heart attack?" Ollie sat next to him, staring at him with a look of outright panic.

"No, you twat, but you might if you don't let me up." Ollie took his hand off and Malcolm sat back up. The giddiness was passing, but he kept breathing deeply. Ollie watched him skeptically, fingering his mobile.

"I'm fine, Ollie. It was just the adrenaline. Felt a little wobbly. All better now." Truthfully, Malcolm felt horribly tired and mildly nauseous, but he knew he would feel better shortly.

Just then the bell rang. Ollie sprang up to answer and came back with one of the constables. Malcolm armed sweat off his brow and tried to look like he was in control of himself.

"Mister Tucker? I'm Constable Maxwell. We got a call from your wife that the gentleman across the street was causing some trouble."

"Yes, thanks for coming. He's a disgruntled ex-employee. We didna know he was out there, but apparently he told my wife while they were on a call. She said he sounded very drunk."

"He seemed pretty agitated when he saw you. Can you tell me why?"

"Like I said, he's an ex-employee. Just lately, he's been trying to discredit me because he thinks I ruined his life." The constable made some notes in his duty log.

"Well, we're taking him in for drinks driving and disorderly conduct. Do you think he is a danger to you?"

"Oh absolutely," Ollie volunteered. Malcolm gave him a sharp look.

"I dunno, officer. Possibly." The constable's radio squawked. He unclipped it from his belt with practised ease and stepped outside. Malcolm saw Sam pull into the driveway. She was out of the car in a shot and blew past the constable to get inside.

"Malc?" She spied him on the sofa and came around to give him a hug. Reeder got out of the way.

"I'm fine, Sam. Calm down. We're okay."

"I'll just, call the car then…" Reeder looked uncomfortable with the domestic display.

"Not just yet," the constable said apologetically as he rejoined them. "I was hoping to take your statement. Won't take a minute. And are you Mrs. Tucker?" Sam nodded.

* * *

"Jamie McDonald. I have news."

"Fuck off, Geoffrey – I'm fixing dinner for my family."

Jamie gave Bev an apologetic look and handed off the whisk and spatula to her so he could take the call in his office. Morgan was having a romp in the living room and Maisie was babbling happily but loudly in her playpen. He turned on the tensor lamp in the office and shut the door behind him.

"Okay, now I can talk, but make it quick." The editor of _The Guardian's_ tone was serious when he continued.

"I got an anonymous email this afternoon with the _Glasgow Daily_ articles about Malcolm. I don't know who else was on the distribution list, but I talked to Marcus at _The Mirror_ and Ellie at _The Mail_ , and they both got it."

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. _Fuck._

"Is anyone you talked to going to run with it?"

"No way, man. We're all aligned. The story's not coming from any of us, but you might want to get some damage control organised tonight. There could have been any number of blind-copied recipients. If anyone's going to run with it, they'll probably break it over the weekend."

"Did you give Malcolm a heads up?"

"No, I wanted to leave that bit to you." _Fuck you very much_ , Jamie thought.

"What's the status on that write-up on Malc?"

"I'm sending it your way now. It's a draft. Marianne's good, but this one's tough to write for a number of reasons. We know it's not fully baked."

"Okay, thanks, mate. And thanks for circling the wagons." Jamie rang off. He paced the office a few times, trying to decide what to do next. He started to dial Malcolm, but cancelled the call. Not yet. It was 17:00 Friday. No one would be in the office. Shit. What a cluster.

He found Nick's mobile in his contacts and breathed a sigh of relief when he picked up.

"Nick, we have a situation. I need you to get the team together ASAP tonight at the office. We need to do a phone bank."


	56. Chapter 56

**Author's Note:**

Sorry this one took so long to deliver. We're at an important juncture in the story and I had some trouble deciding which way to go with it. The result is below, with another chapter in the works. If all goes well, you will see that one sometime this week.

* * *

The front door closed behind Reeder as he headed out to the car waiting at the curb. Malcolm watched through the window and waited until he saw Ollie open the car door and fold himself into the back seat, and then turned back to his guests.

The young constable had given a heads up that Peel was on his way over in response to a message from Sam. Malcolm assumed that Sam called the Detective Chief Inspector right after she got off the phone with Fleming, or perhaps after dialing 999. Peel arrived just as the constable was finishing up taking their statements. Malcolm and Sam shared a look and Sam shifted gears to help the constable to wrap things up so Ollie could leave. There was no need for Ollie to know how they knew Peel and what he was doing there.

Malcolm was still irked that Sam had called Fleming. He didn't want her to have to deal with him in any way, shape or form, and the thought of that fucker talking to her without Malcolm present made him want to take a blowtorch to his ex-employee's teeny tiny testicles.

Malcolm suspected Sam was screening his messages and wondered what else came in since she'd confiscated his device this morning. While he was frustrated that she felt she needed to do that, he knew it was with the intent of protecting him. But not knowing what was going on made him feel even more out of touch and vulnerable. For Malcolm, knowledge was power, and being out of the loop was the worst possible thing that could happen.

She hadn't let go of his hand since she arrived. He tried to reassure her that he was okay, but she kept looking over to him as if she couldn't believe it. Knowing Sam, she had probably imagined every possible scenario, from Steve having a drunken piss on the front door and leaving to taking a shot through the window or burning the place to the ground.

Peel saw the constable to the door, asking for a copy of his report, and then rejoined Malcolm and Sam in the living room, reclaiming his laptop from the coffee table.

"Thanks for coming, Peel, I really appreciate it," Sam said. Peel turned his attention to Malcolm.

"I'm just sorry for the circumstances. I understand from Sam and what I caught of your interview with Constable Maxwell that Mr. Fleming came to the house, drunk, and threatened you, Malcolm. Is that about right?"

Malc shook his head. "Not exactly. I was here meeting with Oliver Reeder, the chap who just left. We had just wrapped up when I got a call from Sam that Fleming was outside the house. I saw the police were already here, talking to him across the street. I went outside, and the little fucker went ballistic. Said that by tomorrow I'd be done. He said he hoped I died. That's pretty typical of Fleming, though."

Sam Chimed in. "I was at the office and had Malcolm's Blackberry. A text came in from Steve. It was pretty awful, so I called him to tell him to stop."

"May I see the text?" Peel asked. Sam queued it up on Malcolm's device and handed it over. Malcolm glanced at it on its way to the Detective Chief Inspector, who read the text carefully and typed on his laptop before handing the device back. Now that he'd seen the message he silently thanked Sam for having his Blackberry so he did not receive it in the moment and do something rash. Maybe she had been right to confiscate the device.

"I recall you said he was a disgruntled former employee. Tell me more about that." Malcolm took a deep breath and tried not to look frustrated. Counting his conversation with Ollie and then his statement to the constable, this would be his third round in answering this question.

"Fleming was my second until a little over two years ago. Among other things, he dug up some dirt on the party leader and used it to discredit him and force him to step aside. He did all that unbeknownst to me. When I found out I called him on it and gave him the option to resign, rather than terminating him."

"From the timing, my guess is that the party leader you're referring to was Andrew Roth, the one who committed suicide in a hotel." Sam looked down at her lap. She still got emotional when Andy came up in conversation.

"That's right." Pool took more notes.

"What's Fleming been up to since he left your employment?"

"I've no idea. I'd heard rumours he'd joined the Nutters—sorry, that's the Liberal Democrats, but he's really dropped out of sight.

"When did he resurface?"

"Just last week. I found out he'd received the articles about my father's trial and called him. He told me he planned to meet with the PM about them and then pass them to the press. He wanted to get me sacked or to resign. We got ahead of it with the PM, so that didna work out for him, but he may well have already gone to the press." Malcolm's stomach clenched when he realised that was most likely true. Shit. He _really_ needed to talk to Jamie.

Sam picked up the narrative. "But Steve's not just on about the job. Don't get me wrong, he has it in for Malcolm – thinks Malc set out to ruin his life, though that couldn't be further from the truth. Malcolm gave him a lot of chances and cut him a ton of slack over the years. He could have fired him, but Steve had just gone through a divorce and Malcolm knew he was having a hard time. The Roth thing, though, that was too much. If Steve hadn't leaked the affair to the press, I doubt Andy would have done what he did. He'd still be alive today and happily married, and would probably be Prime Minister.

"He's had a thing for me since before Malc and I were even dating. He hit on me a lot. I always turned him down. Once Malc and I were engaged, he stopped asking me out, but I still felt uncomfortable around him. There were a few times over the years where he got me alone, and all I can say is I felt very uncomfortable. He'd stare at me with this look that – well, I don't know what he was thinking, but it was probably dirty. Finally I told Malc and he addressed it. But even today on the phone, he told me he was here and wanted me to come outside and talk."

Peel took more notes, then finally his hands dropped from the keyboard. He looked Malcolm in the eye.

"Fleming sounds pretty unstable. The fact that he'd come here is worrisome. I already ran his background and he has no criminal history, but he will after today. We've got him on drinks driving and disorderly conduct, and also stalking.

"Constable Maxwell probably told you that you can sign a restraining order against him. That means he's restricted from contacting or harassing you in any way, and cannot be within a certain proximity of you. Based on what you just told me, I strongly recommend doing it. Usually you'd go to the station to fill out the paperwork, and might have to wait until the case goes to trial and he's convicted, but we have the eye-witness accounts of two constables plus yourself and Mr. Reeder. That's more than enough evidence to meet the burden of proof for a restraining order. We can do it now so it will go into effect as soon as he is notified. My guess is he will be in gaol at least overnight for the drinks driving charge.

Malcolm squeezed Sam's hand. "We'll do the restraining order. I don't want that wanker anywhere near Sam."

They worked with Peel to complete the order, and then he submitted it electronically. Malcolm could see tension leave Sam's face as soon as it was done.

"I meant to ask, Malcolm, how are you feeling?" From Peel's appraising gaze, it seemed like more than a casual question. He felt Sam sit forward next to him.

"I'm good. Finally got rid of the IV and oxygen. I'm back in the office starting Monday." Peel grinned.

"Glad to hear it. I bet you'll have a lot to catch up on."

"I've been doing some work at home, and Jamie's handled things while I was out. Hopefully it won't be too bad."

"I was hoping to have some of your time on Monday. I'd like to give you an update on the case and I have some additional questions I need your help with."

Malcolm was a little bewildered. "Why not now?"

Sam squeezed his hand. "I asked Peel to give us the weekend. You need some time to adjust to – things, and rest up so you're ready for the biopsy." _The meds. Fuck. She wants to make sure I'm on the meds before I find out anything else. And when did she have time to talk to Peel?_

Malcolm debated pressing for an update now, but decided not to push it. After two doctor visits and the shock of seeing Fleming he knew he was past his limit for today.

But as soon as Sam returned from seeing Peel out he raised the issue.

"When did you talk to Peel?" Sam reclaimed her seat next to him on the sofa but avoided his eyes.

"While I was at the office. He called wanting to set up time. I told him it would have to wait until Monday." Malcolm suspected there was more to the conversation but left it alone. Thinking back to their time with Jacobs, he knew everything she was doing right now, no matter how controlling it may seem, was out of concern for his wellbeing.

"Has Jamie called or texted?" Sam's expression changed, as if she'd just remembered something.

"Yes—I completely forgot—sorry! He called earlier to check in and see what the doctor had to say. I told him to call you tonight or tomorrow. He sounded a little off. I dunno. But he said everything was fine, and no need to call him back."

Malcolm clenched his jaw but didn't respond. He almost snapped at her, but realised she didn't know about his morning conversation with Jamie or the concerns he had. Sam clasped his arm, finally meeting his eyes. She looked apologetic.

"Malc, I'm sorry. I took your Blackberry because I didn't want you to see anything that would make things more stressful, but I think I crossed a line I shouldn't have. It wasn't right for me to listen to your messages or call people back. I should've just powered it off and let it alone." His heart melted when he saw tears in her eyes. Poor dear. She didn't mean any harm. He cast an arm around her, pulling her close.

"I forgive you. Thanks for saying that. It's been driving me crazy all day. So I know you talked to Peel, Fleming and Jamie. Anyone else?"

"No, that's it. I shouldn't have called Steve, either, but when I saw that text I just wanted to pound him." Malcolm couldn't help smiling at the image.

"What did he say?"

"Well, when I called he thought I was you, so he called you a—very bad word that I won't say."

"Cunt?" It was just about the only word Sam wanted nothing to do with, so it wasn't hard to guess.

"Yes, that one, and I wish you wouldn't say it either."

"What else?"

Sam sighed and clasped his hand. "Oh the usual. You ruined his life. I should leave you and go with him. He did say he sent the articles to the press."

"I figured he had."

"Said he wouldn't have done it if you hadn't sent Jamie after him."

It took a moment for Malcolm to take that in. " _What?_ But I didna… _fuck_. I _knew_ he was going to do something stupid."

"You didn't tell him to talk to Steve?"

"No! Just the opposite. He'd had Reeder digging up dirt. Told me about it this morning. I told him to let it alone. But he hung up on me and wouldna return my calls, so I figured he'd gone vigilante."

Sam sighed and squeezed his knee as she rose from the sofa. "It's after five. Why don't you take your appetite meds and then we can fix dinner. I've got some nice steaks and broccoli, and you could make your rice pilaf." She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a pill in one hand and a glass of water. Malcolm figured he wouldn't win if he tried to argue that Jamie might call and he needed to be alert for that.

He swallowed the pill and chased it with water. Sam headed back to the kitchen and he meant to follow, but he took a moment to reflect before he rose from the sofa. He knew she was trying to act as if everything was as normal as possible to try to keep him from freaking out. She knew just as well as he did how serious things had become.

Here it was, Friday evening, and the worst had happened. Fleming sent the _Glasgow Daily_ articles to the press. Soon enough, the first of the articles would be out – possibly in the Sunday editions of the papers. The phone would start ringing with journalists wanting to talk to him. Monday, when he arrived at the office, there would likely be a forest of media to wade through. His whole staff would likely have read the articles or heard about them on tellie.

His stomach flip-flopped at the thought, so much so that he worried the appetite pill wouldn't stay down. His heart was racing. He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself with deep breathing the way he had in Jacob's office.

He wasn't sure how long he was sitting there before he heard Sam's footsteps on the tile in the kitchen, headed his way.

"Malc? Did I lose you?"

He opened his eyes and shook himself a little. "On my way." While his stomach still felt like a clenched fist, he felt a little more like he could hold it together enough to help with dinner. _Just fake it til you make it. Or something like that._


	57. Chapter 57

**Author's Note:**

Here's a short mid-week chapter with another in the works for this weekend. I have a short window between projects so this story is getting more attention than usual, which means more frequent updates. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

The dumb fuck finally called at 20:00 as Malcolm and Sam were doing the dishes. Sam answered and passed the handset to Malc, who took it and moved into the living room. He gave her a peck on the cheek on his way out of the kitchen.

"Malc, I-"

"Let me guess. Fleming leaked the articles."

"How did you know? Wait, did somebody call you?" Jamie sounded as if he was ready to go find and eviscerate any journalist who did such a thing. There was a lot of background noise on Jamie's end of the call.

"Are you at the office?"

"Fleming sent the articles blind CC. Geoffrey gave me a heads up, so we've been on the phones."

"We?"

"What? The team." Jamie rattled off the names of five or so Comms team members. Malcolm felt a flare of panic in spite of the anti-anxiety meds, which he'd taken right after dinner. It felt very far away, but it was still there.

"Have they seen the articles? Do they know what this is about?"

"No. I told them you were getting some negative attention and gave them talking points. We've been cold calling editors since 16:00. We hit everybody. All the major syndicates are rallying around you. It's a united front. The legitimate media won't run with it, and we leaned pretty hard on everyone else. You might get away clean, Malc."

Malcolm wished that were possible. Whether it came out in the media or not, Fleming accomplished his mission. Every editor who received the articles would no doubt read them, and possibly also show them to others.

"Why am I only hearing about this now, Jamie? This is my _life_ we're talking about. I need to be kept in the loop. And what did you do to Fleming?" There was silence on the other end of the call. Malcolm waited, imagining that Jamie was trying to think through the best way to position it with him.

"Fleming? Nothing. Just talked to him. Told him to back off."

"Or,"

"What do you mean, 'or'?"

"Back off, _or_ …what?"

Silence.

"What did you use, Jamie? You did, didn't you. Threaten him. After I told you to fucking leave it alone."

Silence. Good. Malcolm didn't think he wanted to hear anything Jamie had to say right now. He felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder. Sam had come up behind him. Malcolm sighed. He had to drop it. In addition to wanting to tear the dumb fuck a new one, Malc was feeling decidedly strange. Kind of swimmy in the head. Pill must be kicking in.

"I canna talk about this right now. Come by for breakfast tomorrow. Eight o'clock."

"Malc, I'm sorry." Malcolm heard the raw emotion in Jamie's voice. Remorse was part of his pattern, too. He only hoped Jamie didn't go out and do something stupid over it.

"That's eight sharp. And don't do anything rash between now and then. Go home to Beverly and the kids. And thanks for getting the team together to sort it. We'll get through this."

* * *

 **SAM:** Make it 9:00 instead of 8.

 **JAMIE:** ?

 **SAM:** M doesn't know it yet, but he's going to have a lie-in.

 **SAM:** U OK?

 **JAMIE:** Tough day. Headed home to Bev.

 **SAM:** It'll look better tomorrow. Get some rest.

 **JAMIE:** Thanks, Mum.

 **SAM:** (: ))

Sam put her mobile on the charger in the foyer and then padded back upstairs, a cup of tea in one hand and last Sunday's crossword in the other. While she was tired after a long, stressful day, Sam wanted to stay up for a while and keep an eye on Malc.

After the call with Jamie, they went back to the dishes. Sam tried not to be too obvious in monitoring Malcolm's mood and looking for signs that the medication was working. It was true that while Malcolm was understandably upset while on the phone with Jamie, Sam thought his reaction seemed less volatile, either from the medication, simple exhaustion, or perhaps a combination of the two.

Like Malcolm, she was worried about Jamie, who had a tendency to go into self-destruct mode when things didn't go to plan. She knew that was why Malcolm didn't say anything about Fleming coming to the house. That was a story best told in person and with some distance from the situation. Distance, and a good night's rest.

Sam noticed that Malcolm was standing a little closer than necessary as he dried the dishes she passed him. His gaze lingered a little longer than usual when they made incidental eye contact. And she felt the exhilarating chemistry they enjoyed as part of their intimate relationship. _Where's this coming from?_ Then Sam remembered. It's Friday. IV gone. Oxygen gone. Restrictions against physical exertion lifted. Sleeping back in their bedroom tonight.

Just as she made the connection she felt his hand ghost along her rib cage, down the swell of her hip and over her buttocks. She gasped involuntarily. Malcolm had a powerful effect on her when he was in the mood. It was like her body couldn't help but respond to him, no matter what else was going on.

Things got more friendly in the kitchen and the remaining dishes were abandoned as they made their way upstairs to the bedroom. Malcolm insisted she go first up the stairs, and followed behind. Sam couldn't help but think about wild horses, where the stallion followed behind the mare, nipping provocatively at her hocks.

Sam grabbed a negligée and visited the bathroom while Malcolm turned down the bed. When she returned, ready for the seduction to continue, she was both disappointed and amused to find her stallion fast asleep on top of the covers and snoring gently. She prodded him until he got properly under the covers, and then he was down for the count.

Full of sexual tension and also worried about the effect of the two new medications on Malcolm, Sam finished the dishes and decided now was a good time to get caught up on her crosswords.


	58. Chapter 58

**Author's Note:**

This chapter commemorates the historic outcome of the UK's EU referendum vote. As an American, I am both terrified and exhilarated as the world moves together into whatever is next. These are exciting times, indeed! No matter which way you voted or what outcome you hoped for, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 _ **BBC Evening News with George Alagia**_

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

[Inlay head shot: Steven Fleming]

…And here is yet another Labour Party burnout story. This just in, Steven Fleming, former Labour Party whip, was arrested for drinks driving, disorderly conduct and harassment outside the home of Malcolm Tucker, Director of Communications for Number Ten.

Fleming, who worked under Tucker for many years, resigned under questionable circumstances a little over two years back. Since then we've lost track of him, as he seems to have retired. Perhaps retirement does not suit you, Mister Fleming. He's being held pending bail. Malcolm Tucker was not available to give a statement about the situation.

In related news, Number Ten released a statement to the Press Association that Tucker will return to work this coming Monday. He was hospitalised for pneumonia two weeks ago and has been at home recovering. Welcome back, Malcolm.

 **SUSAN MANDERLY:**

I'm sure the ministers are quaking in their boots. We'll see if Tucker's back in full sweary form.

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

[Laughs politely with **SUSAN** ]

That we will. On to other news…

* * *

Jamie pressed Save, closed the draft _Guardian_ write-up on Malcolm, and shut down and stowed his laptop. His stop, which put him two blocks from Malcolm's front door, was next.

His car on the tube was sparsely populated, enabling him to take one last pass at the article before he met with Malcolm. Overall, the draft hadn't been too bad, and with Jamie's redlines, he was fairly certain Malcolm wouldn't have a haemorrhage when he read it.

The original draft from Marianne and Geoffrey had been much too soft and gone too deeply into Malcolm's background. He was glad that Geoffrey acknowledged it wasn't publish-ready as is.

Upon first read, it was obvious to Jamie where Marianne had struggled with the storyline. The second and third read gave Jamie an appreciation of the high regard she had for the old bastard. It was that level of regard that most got in her way as a journalist. She'd lost her objectivity, at least in the context of this particular subject. Easy to do.

Jamie stood, shouldered his laptop bag, and moved to the exit, gripping the stang as the train rolled to a stop. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting. His call with Malcolm had been rough, though he knew he got off easily considering what he'd done and what happened afterwards.

He'd seen the coverage of Fleming's arrest while consuming a reheated dinner last night. So the drunken fucker had likely gone home after their talk, drank some more, sent the email to the media, and then got behind the wheel of his car and driven to Malcolm's. Jamie wished he could believe Fleming would have done those things even if Jamie hadn't sidelined him, but he couldn't quite get there. He knew this was his fault.

No wonder the old bastard was so short with him on their call. Jamie wondered if Fleming had said anything to Malcolm about sending the articles. Jamie wondered what else the fucker might have said. None of it would be good. Whatever Jamie got today from Malcolm, he deserved it. He was prepared to resign, if needed.

After seeing the announcement, Jamie considered his options. Top of the list included getting thoroughly pissed, which would ensure a divorce, loss of employment and possibly his own trip through the criminal justice system. Suicide was another attractive alternative. Fortunately, there was a third option there, and he took it.

He waited until Bev was done putting Maisie to bed, and then sat her down and told her everything. He was just done.

He gave her all the detail on what was going on with Malcolm, which he'd withheld to date. He told her about his efforts to shut down Steve Fleming and what the outcome was. He even told her about what he did to Ollie, and how he felt about it now that he was saddled with being Reeder's mentor. He did nothing to candy coat things or position himself in a more positive light.

And instead of looking at him with disgust and telling him how awful he was, or demanding a divorce now that she'd finally seen his true character, she hugged him and told him they would get through it together, no matter what happened. For the second time in as many weeks, Jamie cried on his wife's shoulder.

As he stepped down from the train onto the platform, Jamie prepared himself mentally for this meeting much as a condemned man prepared to meet the guillotine. _For those about to die, we salute you._

* * *

Jamie noticed three newspapers on the Tucker doorstep, each in their own plastic sleeve. He gathered them up, thinking he'd save Sam or Malcolm a trip outside for them.

It took several rings on the bell before Sam finally answered the door in a robe, obviously fresh out of the shower.

"Sorry, Jamie, we're running a little behind. Come on in." She ushered him into the kitchen, pulling her robe more tightly around her neck in the morning chill.

"Here, have a coffee. Malc's in the shower. I'm just going to pop upstairs and get dressed. You'll be okay here?"

"Sure," he said, setting the papers on the table and accepting the steaming cup she handed him.

He used the time to open each paper and scan the headlines. The big three stuck to their word. There wasn't even a mention of Malcolm in the short notice of Fleming's drinks driving arrest, which was not a front-page story in any of the papers. Makes sense. Most people these days hadn't even heard of Steve Fleming. But Jamie liked to think they buried it because the PA announcement included the location of the arrest.

The old bastard finally made it downstairs, clean-shaven and fully dressed. Jamie thought he looked good – much better than he'd looked in weeks. Possibly months.

"Jamie, sorry to keep you waiting. Had a bit of a lie-in." Malcolm fixed coffee at the kitchen counter and then joined him at the table. Sam came in, fully dressed and hair dry, and got busy preparing breakfast. Jamie closed and stacked the newspapers.

"Sam, can I help?" He offered.

"No, Jamie, thanks. Why don't you two go in the living room and have a talk. Breakfast will be ready in a bit." _Crap. That's just what I was trying to avoid._

They moved to the living room. It was when Malcolm claimed his favorite wing-backed chair that Jamie finally noticed he was unencumbered.

"No more IV and oxygen. That's great!" Malcolm grinned.

"I'm a free man. Doc says I beat the pneumonia. I'm back in the office next week on a limited basis."

"That's good to hear. You look good." And he really meant it. That lie-in must've done wonders.

"Thanks." The silence stretched out. Malcolm watched Jamie, who fought the urge to fidget. He was really hoping Malcolm would start the conversation, but the enforcer had other ideas. Finally Jamie caved.

"Yes, I talked to Fleming yesterday. I used something Ollie dug up about his finances and a civil suit he settled out of court. It's my fault he sent the articles and came here. It was the wrong thing to do, and I'm sorry. If you'd like me to resign, I will. I know I deserve it."

Malcolm didn't even blink. He just sat there, watching Jamie. His facial expression was relaxed. Maybe even a little amused.

"Will you fucking _say something_ to that?"

"Jamie, do you really think this is something I'd want you to resign over?"

"You said it last night – it's your life I'm messing up. I don't think I could have done anything else wrong yesterday." Jamie felt a knot in his throat and swallowed it down. This felt like the talk he had with his father after he was dismissed from school for hitting a teacher.

Malcolm kept his silence. The clock ticked. Jamie finally sighed and stumbled on.

"I ignored what you said and worked with Ollie to put together the leverage against Fleming. Then I waited for him outside the Nutter headquarters. I pulled him into an alley and told him if he didn't drop it I would take everything I had about his finances and the civil suit with Roth's widow and leak it to the press. Spread it all over Westminster, too."

"The suit was with Gretchen?" The bastard looked surprised, leaning forward in his chair.

"Aye. He settled out of court for a huge sum. He took out a loan to pay it and then defaulted on the loan."

"When did all this happen?"

"Earlier this year." Malcolm sat back, a thoughtful expression on his face. Finally he shook himself and seemed to regain his focus.

"So you leaned hard on Fleming and hoped it would make him shut up and go away. Did you really think that would work?"

Jamie paused before responding. This felt like the conversation they'd had after his conversation with Reeder outside of St. Thomas's. Might as well just hit rewind and press play. When was he going to fucking learn?

"Looking back now, I see it was a bad idea. It probably just pushed him into doing exactly what I wanted to avoid."

"Sure. Think about it. He tried to get the PM on board and that didna work. Then, you intimidated him and threated to expose him. You didna leave him a choice. Sending the articles was his only way to save face."

"I'm really sorry, Malc. I don't know what else to say."

"Why did you do it? I'd told you to drop it, but you carried on." Jamie felt his face get hot.

"He was going to destroy you. And you sounded so tired. Beaten. I couldna take it. You've been through so much, and this fucker comes along and decides he wants to have a go. I was mad. I wanted to protect you."

The clock ticked some more. Jamie smelled bacon and eggs.

Malcolm coughed and cleared his throat. "That's your M.O. You're a rescuer. The problem is, when you get in rescue mode, all rational thought seems to leave you. You don't care what the consequences are to you and don't see the down-stream effect of your actions." Jamie felt his eyes well up. He didn't trust his voice to answer.

"It's like you want to sacrifice yourself. It might be good for you to think about where that comes from." Jamie didn't have to think about it. He already knew where it came from. He felt a tear slip out and swiped at it angrily with the heel of his hand.

"I appreciate that you wanted to protect me. With Fleming and Ollie, too. But Jamie, I care about you too much to want you to sacrifice yourself like that. I worry about you. I'd rather we work together to come up with solutions that don't involve threatening, or bullying, or putting yourself on the line like that." Jamie still didn't think he could trust his voice, so he just nodded.

"How's the couples counselling working out?"

Jamie sniffed and pulled himself together, grateful for the change in topic. Breakfast smelled good and he was sure Sam would call them soon.

"Good. Had two appointments so far. We like the counsellor and I think it's helping a lot. Things are getting better with us. Less fighting and more talking."

"That's great. Glad to hear it. I just did my first meeting with a counsellor on all this childhood stuff. Did it for Sam. I'm still not keen on it, but I'm starting to think it might help me get through this next bit."

"Malc? Jamie? Breakfast is ready."

"Be right in, Luv," Malc called, and then turned his attention back to Jamie. "Glad we had this talk. After breakfast you can give me an update on things. Let's eat."


	59. Chapter 59

**Author's Note:**

There is a little time shifting in this chapter – I hope it's not too confusing. Lots going on here, and the next chapter is in process with an ETA of the end of the week, if not sooner. If you have a moment, please leave a review. Thanks so much!

* * *

" _You really shouldn't worry about these things so much, Malcolm." Andy scraped up the last of the cheesecake onto his fork. They were at The Royal Trafalgar having dessert and coffee after dinner. Andy looked sharp and trim in a tailored Armani suit. Malcolm caught the faint but familiar smell of his aftershave from across the table._

" _You dinna get it, Andy. It's all going to come out. Everybody will know about what he did to me. I'll never live it down." Roth waved it away._

" _So what? Seriously, Malc, so what? Are you running for office? Going to be a minister?"_

" _Of course not."_

" _Then what's the issue?" Malcolm felt a flare of irritation._

" _I will lose leverage."_

" _Want to bet on that?" Andy set down his coffee and took out his billfold. "I'll bet you a tenner this doesn't make you any less effective with anyone. Not the media, not the ministers, not your team, and not the PM." He placed the note in the centre of the table and looked up at Malcolm._

" _How can you be so sure?"_

" _Because I know you, Malcolm. You're not going to let this pull you down. In fact, you'll probably come out of it stronger than you were. That's how you operate."_

" _But you don't know the whole story, Andy. My father-"_

" _Sexually abused you?" Malc looked around quickly to make sure no one at another table had heard that. In his perusal of the room he noticed several familiar faces at nearby tables, but he couldn't place them at the moment. The important thing is that no one seemed to have recognised him or heard Andy's question._

" _Even I dinna know that."_

" _But you're not sure. Adults at the time thought so, didn't they?" Malcolm didn't answer. Roth was right, though. The caseworker wouldn't have asked him about it if there hadn't been suspicions. His grandmother asked him more than once. Even one of his teachers at the time tried to talk to him about it. At the time, it seemed as if everybody knew more about the situation than he did._

" _There might have been something. But I dinna remember."_

" _That's good, Malc. Who would want to remember something like that? At any rate, it doesn't matter. Whether you were or weren't, you're still too good at your job to let this get in your way."_

" _Easy for you to say. You're dead."_

" _What?" Andy looked up with bored curiosity. Malcolm realised that this was a young, confident Andy; not the tired, beaten Andy he'd had dinner with the night the former party leader decided to end his own life._

" _Nothing. Listen, I'm worried about Fleming. He's up to something. You need to watch your back."_

 _Andy laughed. "Fleming? Man's a caricature of himself. I'm not worried about him. He's_ your _problem, Malc; you sort him out."_

No kidding _, Malcolm thought. Andy glanced at his watch and signaled to the waiter for the check._

" _Sorry, I've got to get back. Promised Gretchen I would be home early. You know how that is."_

" _Aye."_

" _Speaking of which, how are things with you and Sam?"_

" _Fine. Why?"_

" _I just was wondering. Maybe you should take her out sometime soon. Show her how much you love her."_

" _I don't do that enough."_

" _And maybe see your solicitor about a will. You need to make sure she's taken care of. Don't put that off. Life is short." Andy put more bills on the table and stood, folding his napkin._

" _It's been good, Malc. Great catching up. Sorry, but I really do have to go." Andrew Roth, Labour Party leader, husband to Gretchen and friend to Malcolm Tucker, shook Malc's hand for the last time._

" _Best of luck with everything. You'll do fine." Malc sat at the table and watched Roth walk toward the restaurant entrance and disappear._

"Rise and shine, handsome."

Malcolm woke up and was startled to find himself looking straight into Sam's deep brown eyes, mere inches from his own. She was straddling him, one nightgown-clad arm on either side. Her hair was pleasantly tousled from sleep. She looked lovely.

"Is this a dream?"

"No Luv, just your wife wanting to give you a proper morning shag." _Jesus wept_.

"So last night must have gone well." Malcolm's last recollection was following Sam up the stairs to their bedroom, ready to get reacquainted now that he was finally free of the medical gear.

Sam laughed and did something under the sheet that helped Malcolm wake up even more. "Well, somebody fell asleep, but up to that point, things were very nice." _Curses. The fucking meds._

"Sorry about that, Luv. Will you let me make it up to you? Do we have time?"

"I told Jamie to come an hour later so you could have a lie in." Malcolm gathered her and pulled her closer.

"Alright then."

* * *

Jamie ate heartily at breakfast. Perhaps it was better to get that tough conversation out of the way and then eat, instead of the other way around. He couldn't believe that he still had a job. It felt a little surreal to sit down for breakfast with Malcolm and Sam as if everything was normal. Then Sam asked him a question about Maisie and as he answered Jamie felt himself relax.

He couldn't help but notice that Sam and Malcolm seemed a bit more chummy than usual this morning. They sat close together, and there seemed to be more touching than was absolutely necessary.

It was when they rose to clear the table that Jamie noticed the fresh mark on Sam's neck when the edge of her turtleneck slipped down a little. _Right._ That explained a lot, including how calm Malcolm seemed the morning after the fucker had sent the _Glasgow Daily_ articles to the media and showed up at the house to create a drunken spectacle.

Malc and Jamie did up the dishes so Sam could meet friends for coffee. They held off on business conversation until they were settled back in the living room with fresh coffee.

"I scanned the papers and didna see anything as of yet. I also didna hear anything on the news this morning." Malcolm nodded, as if that confirmed his forecast.

"Good. We'll see about the tabloids and social media. Do you have an update on the _Guardian_ write-up?"

"Actually, I have a draft." Jamie pulled out his laptop and fired it up. "I did some editing, so you will see my redlines."

"Go ahead and email it to me. I don't want to take up that much of your time. I'll have a look and get back to you later today."

Jamie pressed Send. "It's in your In Box now."

Malcolm stretched in his chair and suppressed a yawn. Jamie thought that was perhaps the most uncharacteristic behavior he'd ever seen from Malcolm.

"Did you get enough sleep?"

Malcolm grinned. "Too much. Started a new med last night and I think it knocked me on my ass."

"Probably needed it. Anyway, the way I see it, things could play out from here in a number of ways."

"Let's run through scenarios, then."

Jamie sat forward. "Okay. First scenario. Everything stays quiet. No one publishes the _Glasgow Daily_ articles, and we don't run the human interest story."

"Unlikely. Even if that happens, the investigation will likely create some swirl."

"What's the latest on that?"

"I dinna know. Meeting with Peel Monday afternoon. He says he has an update."

"Well, no telling how that will play out. Worst case, we run the human interest story and that might stir up some press attention related to the investigation, but at least we've got some background out there."

"Right. Let's not waste time on that one. There are too many variables. What's scenario two?"

"Scenario two. One of the papers or news channels runs with the story." Jamie thought this was the most likely way things would play out. While he was confident that none of the reputable papers would use it, he was much less confident about the tabloids. And there was no way to stop it if it went up on social media.

Malcolm nodded. "If I were an editor, I'd try to get it out on Sunday. The email went out with a blind carbon copy, so no telling who else got it, and I'd want to get the story out before anyone else does."

"Right. So, we could get the _Guardian_ write up into the Sunday edition. It's a human-interest story. It would play well in a Sunday paper and have a good readership. That way, if the _Glasgow_ Articles come out, it's a non-event."

Malcolm nodded. "People will still get more detail than I'd like, but you're right, that would pull the teeth on it."

"And unless a major story breaks around the same time that draws everyone's resources, you'd still get press calls and a queue at the door."

"Fuck me. We'll have to keep an eye on events and find something we can possibly promote for attention."

"Good idea. Too bad Nicola's immigration policy went over so well. Could've been a good candidate. Even with a major news event, you're too much of an icon. Eventually you will get attention, though it might be delayed."

"No avoiding that, is there?"

"Only if the _Glasgow Daily_ articles don't come out and we don't publish the _Guardian_ write-up."

"And we don't have any odds on that. It's risky." Malcolm sighed and sat back in his chair. "I'd like to find a way to not put the _Guardian_ piece out, but it's looking like we'll have to use it no matter what. And you say you're pretty happy with it?"

Jamie nodded. "It's okay. Good, even." Malcolm nodded, still thoughtful.

Jamie remembered the arrest coverage on Fleming.

"Another risk is swirl around the Fleming situation. The PA announcement mentioned that the arrest happened right across the street. BBC News picked up on that. Said you weren't available for comment." Irritation flashed across the Communications Director's face.

"How could I be available if they didna fucking call me? Then again, they might have. Sam confiscated my device. She was checking my messages most of the day, but later just turned it off."

"It's fine, though. You shouldna comment, anyway. Not even worth noticing, right?"

"Right." Malcolm's expression was thoughtful. "I'll have to think about that. It's not going to go away, is it?" Jamie saw this as an opportunity to get more details.

"What happened anyway?"

"Ollie and I were just wrapping up when Sam called from the office. She said Fleming had texted me on my Blackberry and she called him. He was drunk and told her he was outside the house. She hung up and called 999 and also Peel.

"I went outside and Fleming freaked out when he saw me. The police were already there. Fleming said he'd sent the articles and it was over for me. Said he hoped I died. They put him in the car and then one of the officers came in and took our statements."

"Wow. Do you think he would have tried to have a go at you?"

Malcolm appeared to consider the question. "I'm not sure. He might have tried to get inside and talk to me or maybe take a swing at me, but it wouldna have gone anywhere. He was sloppy drunk.

"When he was talking to Sam, he thought she was at home. He wanted her to come out and talk. Man's been hung up on her since before we were even dating. Creeps her out. I've talked to him about it more than once. I'm more worried about that than anything he might try to do to me. We filed a restraining order against him." A silence spun out. Jamie finally broke it.

"Malc, I'm sorry. I don't think he would have done any of this if I hadn't leaned on him."

Malcolm's expression was understanding yet stern. "I know you are, Jamie. And we've got to find a way to make sure this never happens again. You don't have to let your anger own you like that." _Back to that again. Fuck._

"Do you have any suggestions?" Malcolm appeared to consider it.

"Have you thought about running it past this counsellor you're seeing?" Jamie cringed inwardly. His anger had already come up in sessions quite a bit.

"Yes, it's crossed my mind. I could do that. Maybe he'll have some suggestions."

"Something to consider, anyway." Malcolm coughed and had a sip of coffee.

"Listen, I don't want to keep you on a Saturday. I will look over the _Guardian_ piece next and circle back. Other than that, no need for us to meet before Monday." Jamie glanced at the clock and stood, following Malcolm into the kitchen with his coffee mug.

"What does your Monday look like? Anything you need me to pick up?"

"I will be into the office for the Comms meeting, and then I'm up with Julius and the PM. If things are quiet, I will pop in on Nicola and a few others. Need to leave by noon for a few appointments." At the door, Jamie shouldered his way into his coat and picked up his laptop bag.

"If anything comes up, just let me know. I will keep an eye on the media and if anything pops up that needs your attention I will give you a call."

On the front stoop, Jamie had one last look at Malcolm, who nodded a goodbye, then he turned and headed back to the station.


	60. Chapter 60

**Author's Note:**

Happy Fourth of July weekend to my US readers! Here's hoping we all have a safe and meaningful holiday.

I would like to mention that this story is not in any way tied to what's going on in post-Brexit vote British politics. I hope you enjoy this departure from reality. Reviews would be appreciated!

* * *

 _ **Who is Malcolm Tucker?**_

 _Marianne Swift, Op/Ed Journalist_

 **DRAFT**

From time to time we like to sit down with key figures in government and get to know them better. Many are familiar with Malcolm Tucker as the PM's enforcer, or "The rabid watchdog of the Labour Party." Known for his acidic demeanour, colourful vocabulary, and ability to dress down the staunchest of ministers, few are aware of his humble beginnings.

I had the occasion to sit down with Malcolm shortly after his release from hospital after a serious bout with pneumonia. He is very thin, and wears an IV and oxygen cannula. His wife and personal assistant, Samantha, sits next to him on the sofa, holding his hand.

Curious about his origins and how he came to be in his role, I learned that Malcolm was born and raised in Glasgow, the child of a sometime caretaker and an office secretary. Money was tight, and Malcolm shared a bedroom with his younger sister and brother in their small flat in Maryhill.

"We didn't have much. I remember my Mum working second jobs to make rent. My father had some difficulties that prevented him from working at times. My sister and I helped out where we could to keep things up at the flat and make ends meet. I had a paper round all the way through secondary school and also did odd jobs for the local shops and neighbours. It was hard, but I learned the value of contributing to the family."

When asked what formative experiences in his past helped shape him into the man he is today, Malcolm had a hard time answering. Finally, with some prompting from his wife, he told me a little more about what it was like growing up in his household.

"My father was an alcoholic and was abusive. His behaviour was very unpredictable. It made for tough going, but as I grew up I became very astute at reading my environment. I could tell from his body language and other cues what kind of day we were going to have. Over time, I learned how to manage things based on his mood. In ways, what I do today is very similar to what I did back then. A lot of my job is about reading the political climate and crafting the messaging that keeps things on point and moving in the right direction."

At the age of fourteen, Malcolm's life changed forever. His younger brother, Duncan, died suddenly. Malcolm was briefly detained after attacking his father upon hearing the news, but was quickly released when the abuse became apparent. Tucker senior was arrested over the suspicious death of his youngest son, and after a lengthy trial, was convicted.

After two more years of secondary school, Malcolm left home and headed for London.

"When you're sixteen, at least in my case, the town you grow up in can feel very small. I thought I was ready to be out on my own. I was very lucky something awful didn't happen to me. Here I was, in this strange new city. Didn't know a soul. Half the people I met in the street couldn't understand me when I asked for directions because of my accent. It was a humbling experience. I almost got right back on the train to Glasgow."

At this point in the narrative, an alarm went off on the medical equipment and Mrs. Tucker made Malcolm stop and rest. After a few minutes he picked up the narrative.

"If I had gone back to Glasgow, I probably wouldn't be where I am today. Instead, I got a job doing dishes and bussing tables in a restaurant in Westminster. Once I had the basic needs covered, I started taking courses at uni. Didn't really know what I wanted to do, so I took a little of this, a little of that.

"But being in the government district in the greatest city in the world had its effect on me. I gravitated toward political science. At the restaurant, I found myself surrounded by patrons who were all in politics in one way or another. I overheard a lot of conversations. It was fascinating. Exhilarating. And the journalists were always not far away. I started following politics in the papers and decided I could become a journalist. I could write a bit and wanted to experience what it was like being in the thick of it.

"And eventually, that's what happened. I did internships at _The Mail_ and BBC, and then landed a staff reporter gig covering politics at _The Times_. I batted around to several different papers, meeting people, getting noticed, and finally landed at _The Guardian_. I moved up to Op/Ed, was an editor and then made editor-in-chief. By then, I was doing exclusives with the PM and her advisers and managing a stable of thirty journalists.

"One day, this senior Labour party whip pulled me aside and said, 'Malcolm, when are you going to stop being a journalist and come over here where it's really happening?' And I thought, he's right. I want to be all in. I want to be part of making things happen and shaping events. So I went to work on his staff. Over time, I became his second and when he stepped aside I got appointed to the role you see me in today."

Do you have any regrets? I ask him. He coughs and has a sip of coffee, wearing a thoughtful expression.

"I haven't always treated people as well as I should have. I've made a lot of mistakes in my dealings with people over the years. In this role, you have to police the ministers and also the media. It's not a popular role with anyone, and you have to tow the line even when you'd rather not. That said, it's a trap to fall into the role of tyrant, as many might say I have. You earn a reputation, and once you have that in Westminster, it's very hard to change it.

"These days, I try to treat people better. I will always be gruff, I imagine; some of that's my upbringing, and some I picked up once I got to London. But I can be kind. I'm learning ways to be kind and still do my job. Does that make sense?"

Yes, Malcolm, we think that makes a lot of sense. Hopefully more of the Westminster elite will watch what you do and take a page from your book.

Now that we're through another reshuffle, the third in two years, the Communications Director is optimistic about the future of the Labour Party.

"We've had some tough innings," Tucker mused, "but don't count us out yet. The Labour Party at its foundation is still strong. We've got some promising junior ministers coming on board and some seasoned folks moving into key roles in this last reshuffle."

I asked about the shift from a nearly unilateral conservative slate to a more liberal mix. Tucker grinned shyly.

"Yes, it's a bit of a shift from where we were. The PM listens to his constituents, and there was considerable displeasure with a cabinet of ministers that almost exclusively represents the interests of the wealthy. There was never any intent for that to happen, it just happened. As senior ministers retired or otherwise moved out the door, what came up in the pipeline for about a decade was a population of ministers shaped by their time. Their political leanings were much more conservative than we've ever really had in Labour before, but if you trace it back, you can see the origins. The PM used this reshuffle to balance things out and get back to the core of Labour."

One might question the degree to which this year's new ministers and cabinet moves were really the choice of the Prime Minister or more the product of his liberal-minded enforcer.

When asked about his return to work, Malcolm was noncommittal.

"I don't have a release date yet from my physician, but I'm following his orders and hope to be back in the office soon. In the meantime, things are in very capable hands with Jamie McDonald and the Communications team."

We wish you the best, Malcolm, and look forward to seeing you whip the Labour Party into shape in the coming year.

* * *

 **MALCOLM:** I'm good with your redlines. Can Geoffrey get into the Sunday Ed?

 **JAMIE:** Bet we can make it happen.

 **MALCOLM:** And please send the final to Peel at CID asap. He asked for an advance reading.

 **JAMIE:** Will do.

Malcolm cringed when he first read the article. He'd chosen to read the original draft first with Jamie's changes hidden. He couldn't believe how much background he'd given during the interview. Thinking back, though, he was fresh out of hospital, feeling like crap, and convinced that the _Glasgow Daily_ articles were going public any minute. Sitting down with Geoffrey and Marianne had been the act of a desperate man.

He was touched by how much thought had gone into the write-up. You would never guess it was written by a journalist Malcolm had gone to the edge of threatening to convince not to run with an article about Nicola and the immigration figures cock-up just barely six months ago.

He was also touched by Jamie's redlines. He'd carved away the excess background and winnowed it down to the most salient points. Then he'd made some minor stylistic tweaks that really shaped the article into something that could smooth the way for Malcolm in getting through the current debacle and also spin the message about the latest reshuffle for the PM. Malcolm thought it was very elegant and very Jamie.

He decided to go ahead and push for a Sunday publication assuming that surely one of the tabloids would run with the _Glasgow Daily_ articles. While he still wished there was a way to get through this without his past coming to light, Malcolm knew it was already out there, whether he liked it or not.

All the editors who were included on Fleming's email had already seen and read the articles. The PM already knew. Julius already knew. His staff may not know the details yet, but they were all pretty sharp, and also all very connected to the media. Sooner or later, they would hear that their boss was an abused child whose father was a murderer. Also, if the investigation back in Glasgow bore fruit, that would likely make the press here in London as well. So why not go ahead and put it out on the table? Malcolm still believed it was better to have some control over how it came out, and the _Guardian_ article was probably their best option.

While he was anxious about it getting out, he was also somewhat relieved. The worst had happened, and he and Sam would get through it. It would be good to stop feeling like he had to hide who he was, or pretend he was something else. Or maybe it was just the happy pills colouring his judgment.

Malc glanced at the clock. It was already closing in on noon. His In Box was overflowing and he wanted to tame the tiger before Monday, but he really was tired. He'd dutifully taken the second dose of both meds this morning, and now could say for sure one or both of them made him drowsy. Sam might be home within the hour, or might be gone all afternoon. He decided a nap was in order, and then he'd get back to his In Box.

Mid-way up the stairs, Malc noticed he was out of breath. By the time he made the landing he was seeing black spots and had to sit on the top step and catch his breath until they cleared. Definitely having a harder time breathing. He'd also noticed it in the shower this morning. And while having sex with Sam.

Otherwise, he felt fine. Chances are, he was back to his pre-pneumonia baseline, and just noticed the shortness of breath more after over a week with oxygen and breathing treatments to help things along.

The last thing he wanted to do was worry Sam. When he felt well enough to stand, Malcolm retrieved the nebuliser from the bathroom and administered a treatment. Doctor Ravi had said to try that if he had difficulty breathing. Hopefully he could get it done well before Sam came home. If he continued having problems, he'd say something when he went in for the biopsy on Friday.


	61. Chapter 61

**Author's Note:**

This takes us through Saturday morning and afternoon. Not sure if anyone is still reading. If so, I hope you enjoy. If you have a moment, a review would make my day!

* * *

"Sometimes I'm sure the best thing to do is take the kids and leave him, and then he goes and does something like this. He's so vulnerable, and I do love him. He just makes me crazy, too."

Sam clasped her coffee tightly in hopes that the warm cup would thaw out her hands. They were at a park that was halfway between their homes. Morgan was on the playground with some other lads his age, bundled in a warm jacket and scarf. Maisie was on Bev's lap, equally bundled in a blanket from her stroller.

She told Malc she was meeting friends for coffee, which was true, as long as you considered "friends" to be Bev, Morgan and Maisie. Bev had texted early in the morning asking to get together. She'd never done that before, and Sam suspected she didn't have many friends to talk to and maybe had something she needed to talk about. Given what Sam already knew about Jamie and Bev's struggles, she readily accepted the invitation.

She also figured that an excursion would give Malcolm and Jamie the run of the house and give her some away time. She loved Malc to bits and had enjoyed their romantic morning tremendously, but they'd been cooped up together for the better part of a week. Also, it felt good to get together with a girlfriend with no spouses.

"He's got a good heart, Bev. He's just struggling right now. He's lucky to have you." The younger woman sighed with frustration and looked down at the napping Maisie, adjusting the blanket around her.

"I'm glad he told me everything, at least. But it's frightening. He's so unpredictable. The kids need a stable, dependable da."

Sam was immediately concerned. "Has he ever gone off on the kids?"

"No. Never. He spoils them rotten. It's like he's trying to make up for something. Maybe because he's gone so much for work. But I think maybe it's also something about his father."

Sam knew Jamie's father died when Jamie was in his early twenties.

"And he is trying to work on it, Bev. I don't listen in when they meet, but I'm pretty sure Malcolm gave him some coaching this morning. And again, I don't think he's losing his job over what happened with Steve, but he'll have to find other ways to operate or it could lead to that." At the start of the conversation Bev expressed concern that Malcolm was going to fire Jamie.

"Thanks, Sam. I was so worried. He looked so dejected this morning when he left for the train. I think Jamie was sure this was it for him. Malcolm is very kind. I bet another man would have binned him a year ago."

"Don't sell Jamie short. He's a good guy. He just has this one Achilles heel that gets in his way."

"Don't we all." Maisie stirred and looked up sleepily. Bev gave her a Tommy Tippy mug of juice.

"And Jamie told me a lot of what's been going on with Malc. Sam, I had no idea. How horrible. To live through that awful abuse and keep it a secret all these years. And now, having to manage it in the media, thanks to that Fleming bastard." Bev paused to yell to Morgan to put his coat back on. He'd discarded it on the ground. He'd probably gotten warm running around and climbing on the playground.

"Have you found out more about what's going on with his lungs?"

Sam instantly felt herself tearing up and looked away. She'd been hoping the topic of Malcolm's heath wouldn't come up and she'd have a break from thinking about it.

"Not much, really. He's got a biopsy this Friday if he can gain back enough weight by then."

Only a full day off of the meds and oxygen, and Sam was already seeing the reality of Malcolm's physical limitations. He was so out of breath after making love that Sam had almost gone for the oxygen. She couldn't help it that she cried, and she hoped Malc thought they were tears of joy at the intimacy.

"Biopsy! He doesn't have cancer, does he?"

"Not that we know of, but they have to check the scar tissue to be sure." _Thanks for reminding me, Bev. Jesus._

Bev repositioned Maisie, who was squirming to get down from her lap. "Anything you need, Sam, just call. Will he be overnight in hospital?"

"It's outpatient, so if all goes well, we'll be home that day and he'll be back in the office Monday."

They talked for a few more minutes, but Maisie let them know in a variety of ways that it was time to go. The two women said their goodbyes, vowing to have another get-together soon, and choose a kid-friendly indoor venue.

As Sam got herself organised in the car for a quick trip to the market she got a call from Malc.

"What are you doing tonight, beautiful?" She smiled and blushed a little. So he was still in wooing mode. Jamie must have left.

"I dunno, I'll have to check my diary. Busy social calendar, you know."

"Ach, that's a shame. Please do check and let me know if you are free."

"What time?"

"Seven o'clock dinner reservations with dancing afterwards. No primitive attire."

"Malcolm, are you sure you're up to that?" He didn't answer.

"Well, looking at my diary, I see I have an opening tonight. I would be delighted to accompany you."

"That's my girl." Sam smiled, though she found herself suddenly weepy. Happened a lot these days.

"I'm driving. This is a date, by the way." _Wow. Malcolm driving. This is big._

"You're sweet. I was just heading to market. Is there anything you need?"

"Only you, Luv. See you soon." Malcolm rang off.

* * *

 **Message 1**

 **FIONA AIMSLEY:** "Malcolm, this is Fiona Aimsley calling from BBC. It's important that you return this call at your earliest convenience. We're including the PA announcement about Steven Fleming's arrest on tonight's _Evening News_ and wanted to confirm the details with you and get a statement. If I don't hear back from you we'll run with what's in the PA release. Please call me. And George conveys his well wishes. Thanks."

 **Message 2**

 **PHILLIP PEEL:** "Malcolm, Sam, Peel here. Just wanted to give you an update about Fleming. This isn't standard procedure, but given the circumstances I thought it best to let you know he was transferred to hospital last night for alcohol poisoning and he will likely be there for a mandatory three-day detoxification programme. After that, he will probably go out on bond pending the court date. He'll be served with the restraining order upon his release. Malcolm, if I don't hear from you I will see you Monday for our meeting. Thanks."

 **Message 3**

 **OLIVER REEDER:** [Sound of throat clearing] "Malcolm, erm, this is Ollie. Just checking in. To see how you're doing, that is. Hope you're okay and there was no fallout from the Fleming visit. Well, see you next week."

"Huh. What do you think of that?" Malcolm turned to Sam, who was nestled against him on the sofa and holding his Blackberry as they listened to the messages together.

He'd managed a compromise when she got back from her coffee date. He demonstrated evidence of the need by way of what happened with BBC and proposed that Sam give him one hour of access to his Blackberry twice a day Saturday and Sunday, and that he resume full possession of his device Monday morning as he returned to the office. After some additional negotiation, they came to a mutually satisfactory arrangement: they would review all incoming calls and texts together once a day and determine whether anything needed action before Monday. If action was required, Malcolm would have the latitude to address things as needed.

It was a big moment in their relationship. While Malcolm considered Sam a part of himself, in his role as enforcer he was privy to truckloads of sensitive information and often had to make tough decisions and manage delicate communications. Those were things he never talked about with Sam, and she never pressed for details.

He trusted her implicitly, but he also had a confidentiality threshold to maintain. Malcolm had pushed back at first, but Sam's counter argument was valid. At this point, everyone knew Malcolm was out of the office, and to date no one had left anything remotely sensitive in a voice mail or text. So while still a little nervous about it, Malcolm agreed. And she was right. So far, everything had proved fairly innocuous.

"He's concerned about you. I think it's nice." Malcolm sighed.

"I am surrounded by carers." Sam hugged him and kissed his neck.

"As you should be."

Malcolm considered making a move, but decided he'd better save himself. Even though he'd had a solid hour nap after the breathing treatment he still felt heavy and tired, and he wanted tonight to be very special.

He'd made reservations at Dinner by Heston Blumenthal in Hyde Park followed by a black tie ballroom event at the Teahouse Theatre in Vauxhall. Early in their relationship Sam had signed them up for lessons, and a lot of their courtship occurred whilst waltzing on the dance floor. With everything at Number Ten, they rarely went dancing these days – maybe twice a year. He hoped his tuxedo fit him well enough to pull this off.

Malc decided to heed Roth's advice from his trippy dream the night before and take Sam out. Starting tomorrow, unless they were very fortunate, going out might well entail a press entourage. He was sure he wouldn't be able to manage reservations on such short notice, but fate smiled upon him. At least in this one small thing.

"Can't you at least give me a hint about where we're going tonight?" She rubbed his chest playfully. Malcolm captured her hand and raised it to his lips for a kiss.

"You already know it's dinner and dancing. The rest is top secret." Malc glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, we need to leave for the restaurant at six thirty, so we'd better get a move on."


	62. Chapter 62

**Author's Note:**

It's Saturday night, and we're with Sam and Malcolm. Don't look too closely into the details in this chapter. I'm no ballroom dancing aficionado, and while the restaurant and dance venue are real places, please remember I am writing this from across the pond, so location details are pure fiction.

Wherever you are, I hope you are not suffering in the July heat and have a nice cool place to sit and read this. If you have a moment, please leave a review.

* * *

Sam closed her laptop, set it on the dresser and crawled back into bed. Malcolm was down for the count, a lightly snoring mound under the duvet. His tuxedo lay crumpled on the floor, a casualty of their romantic evening.

It was a magical night. Malcolm drove them to the restaurant, refusing to divulge the location until they rolled up. Dinner by Heston Blumenthal was not a place Malcolm would typically frequent, but Sam had mentioned more than once that she was curious about it.

Waiting for them at the host podium were a stunning corsage and boutonnière. Malcolm had done well. Their table was in a secluded corner, away from the bustle of the busy dining room. The food was both aesthetically pleasing and delicious. The service was impeccable.

He ate well, and even split a piece of cheesecake with her. Two days on the new medications and Sam could swear his hollow cheeks were starting to fill out. His tuxedo was quite loose, but he still looked incredibly dashing. Malc always was a clotheshorse. Part of what attracted Sam to dancing lessons while they were dating was seeing Malcolm in eveningwear.

Dancing was one of the many thresholds Malcolm had to pass through to prove his love during their courtship. It also did a lot to help smooth his rough edges, which was what Sam hoped for all along. When they met he was a crass, brash, insensitive member of the swarming throng of press - hands down the worst of the lot.

He asked Sam out while she was assertively showing him the door after he'd managed to get in to Number Ten and she found him loitering outside of the cabinet meeting. She was so surprised she said yes. If Sam had been working in a different office that day, or if she hadn't noticed him, or if she'd said no, they probably never would have married.

The first date was a bit rough, but not so rough that she didn't say yes to a second date. And he grew on her quickly, with his saucy potty mouth and his dogged pursuit of her. Even back then, she knew he was a diamond in the rough. And what a precious gem he turned out to be.

Tonight, Malc was the embodiment of chivalry, opening doors and pulling out chairs. Sam took a moment to appreciate how much he had changed since she first met him.

He was very quiet during dinner. After several unsuccessful attempts to get conversation going, Sam finally accepted that there was an undisclosed agenda for tonight, and she'd best sit back and watch it unfold. There was lots of eye contact, handholding, and a little action under the table.

Finally the cheque came and Malcolm swept it up casually, though this was likely one of the most expensive meals they'd had since their wedding reception. While he usually relied on her to figure the appropriate gratuity, tonight he did not let her see the bill.

The drive to Vauxhall was a little challenging. Malcolm was a fussy driver at the best of times, and at night it was even worse. The Saturday evening traffic flowed around them with no small amount of horn honking and shouted epithets from other drivers. Malcolm ignored the raucous and doggedly pressed on, significantly below the speed limit. Sam was in turns amused and touched that he made such a gallant effort. At last they arrived at the Teahouse Theatre and handed the car off to the valet.

They were escorted to a table at the edge of the dance floor. Couples twirled gracefully in an array of splendor. Sam recognised a few couples from previous black tie events and waved. The music ended and one couple made their way to their table while Malcolm ordered their drinks.

"Malcolm and Sam! What a nice surprise. Haven't seen you in a bit. Do you remember us? I'm David and this is Iris."

"Yes, of course – hi! Malc, you remember David and Iris?"

After a quick flash of annoyance that Sam hoped the other couple didn't notice, Malcolm smiled. "Sure," he said, shaking David's hand. David scrutinised Malcolm as he sat back down.

"You've lost weight, old man. I heard you were ill. Pneumonia, wasn't it?"

"Yes. On the mend, though."

Just as conversation was wearing a bit thin a Chopin waltz began. Sam squeezed Malcolm's arm.

"Malc, remember this one?" Sam turned toward Iris and David. "Great seeing you both. Thanks for coming by. We'll seek you out on the break."

They danced the waltz, which was thankfully slow. Malcolm led splendidly, turning her crisply in all the right places. Shortly the mood Malcolm had worked to create was reestablished, and Sam disappeared into his eyes. When Malcolm wanted to, he could bleed raw charisma, and she was soon putty in his hands.

The dance ended all too soon and a tango started. Sam was relieved when Malcolm led her off back to their table. He loved the tango, but perhaps he realised he wasn't up to it. Sam watched him struggle to hide his breathlessness during their waltz, but he couldn't mask those telltale dark crescents that formed under his eyes.

They nursed their drinks through a few fast dances – sparkling water for Malcolm and Champaign for Sam, and danced again when another waltz came on. That waltz flowed into another. It was the music they danced to right before Malcolm proposed to her. He did it right there on the dance floor with everyone watching. He even got down on one knee for it. Her acceptance was met with applause and bravos from the other couples.

Malcolm resisted when Sam turned towards their table. "Don't you want to dance this one, Luv?" He looked at her winningly. She eyed the perspiration on his forehead.

She cupped his cheek. "Malc, maybe we should sit one out. You look tired."

"I'm fine. Come on. Just one more." He charmed her into it. Against her better judgment, they returned to the floor. They spun around the room in concert with the other dancing couples. She clasped his shoulder. He stroked the hand he was holding gently with his thumb. She gazed into his eyes. Then he was leaning heavily against her and she realised he was about to pass out. She stopped immediately and steadied him.

"Malc!" A couple dancing nearby noticed and looked concerned.

He leaned against her, breathing, then finally raised his head. "Okay. I'm okay. Sorry. Just got a little giddy. You were right." The look in his eyes broke her heart.

"Let's go sit down."

They stayed for a bit longer, visiting with David and Iris and a few other couples they knew. Finally Sam said she was tired and they headed to the coat check.

When the valet rolled up in the car Sam took the keys. Malcolm didn't protest, moving to the passenger seat. They chatted idly about the couples they saw and the dance venue on the drive. Once home, though, Malcolm stopped her in the doorway with a gentle hand at her waist.

"Sam," was all he said, and pulled her in for a kiss. They weren't even inside yet, and it was cold out. Sam wondered if any of the neighbours could see them. When it ended, Sam finally asked what she'd been wondering all night.

"Malcolm, I had a great time tonight. It was really special. But what was this about?" He grinned shyly.

"About? What do you mean?"

"Well, the whole night. Dinner by Heston Blumenthal. The dance. Flowers. All this attention. I'm just trying to understand what's going on." A complex array of emotions passed over his face. Sam thought he looked a little hurt, maybe a little sad.

He opened the door for her and they continued the conversation in the foyer as he helped her off with her coat and hung them both in the foyer closet.

"Starting tomorrow, things are probably going to be different. No telling how things will play out. I just wanted to give you a nice night. Show you how much I love you."

 _Hopeless romantic._ "Malc, I already know that. Are you kidding? You're the light of my life. And whatever happens from here, we'll take it on together." She kissed him to prove it. Things got warm quickly.

Once in the bedroom she stopped the action again.

"Malc, I want this as much as you do, but I'm worried about your breathing. Maybe you should do a nebuliser treatment before."

"After," He nuzzled into her neck, his hands working deftly to liberate her from her evening gown.

"Okay, after. But if you're still this congested tomorrow I want you to call Doctor Ravi."

"Yes. Now could we continue?"

He dutifully did the breathing treatment afterwards, and then fell deeply asleep. Sam, on the other hand, was wide-awake.

She ended up going online and looking up the condition Doctor Ravi had mentioned. Pulmonary fibrosis. She had carefully avoided doing that all this time, but tonight was her breaking point. It was a really bad idea.

From what the doctor had already told them, she knew the best they could hope for was for things not to get worse, but everything she read on the Internet conveyed an inevitable and often speedy progression and, barring a lung transplant, a fatal outcome.

So she lay there, watching him sleep. She could hear the congestion in his lungs. How many years had it been like this? A long time. He looked so tired tonight at the dance. But was he really any worse then he'd been before this run-in with pneumonia?

 _Please don't leave me yet, you stubborn bastard._


	63. Chapter 63

**Author's Note:**

Here is a mid-week chapter with another in the works. This one takes us into Sunday, and the next should wrap up the weekend, as Malcolm prepares for his first day back in the office. I hope you enjoy. Please write a review if you can. Hearing from you helps me keep plugging along.

* * *

 _Malcolm breathed in the moist steamy air and coughed phlegmily into his towel. He and Andy were sitting in the sauna at the Royal Trafalgar Hotel. Malcolm ascertained their location from the hotel logo embossed on the steam hazed glass doors. Andy was leaning forward, elbows on his white knees, modest gut pressing over the top of the towel wrapped around his waist._

 _"You've got to work all the angles on this thing, Malc. You're not seeing the big picture here."_

 _Malcolm took another careful breath and tried to remember how they had gotten here and what exactly they were talking about. So far he was coming up blank. He looked down and noticed that he was in black swim trunks. How odd. He didn't even own swim trunks._

 _"Sorry, what are you on about?" Mild frustration flashed across Roth's face._

 _"The strategy. The PM. Dan Miller. Nicola Murray. Come on Malc, keep up. You're really off today."_

 _"The strategy? But that was after you…oh never mind. What about it?"_

 _"You need to get to work. That's what. This stuff doesn't happen automatically. It takes a bit of elbow grease. You know that."_

 _Malcolm coughed and cleared his throat again. It was fucking hot in there. His heart was pounding. "But we're in good shape. We got most of our reshuffle picks. Dan's in position. Nicola had a breakthrough. I think she's going to be okay. Jamie's struggling a little, but he's learning. Things are going in the right direction."_

 _Andy clasped Malcolm's shoulder. Sweat pattered from his elbow down to the wet tiled floor._

 _"But you've got to work with them. Don't get complacent."_

 _"I am working with them." Malcolm felt himself getting defensive. After all, he'd been out of the office. What the fuck did Andy expect him to do? But the idea of saying all that just made Malcolm tired._

 _Andy stood, tightening the towel around his waist. "No you're not. You're sitting on your skinny arse, Malcolm, worrying about things you can't control. Rise and shine. Time to get a move on."_

 _"But-"_

 _Andy walked out of the sauna. A whoosh of cool air wafted in as he moved through the door._

 _As Malcolm stood to follow he became aware of another man sitting in the far corner of the sauna. While the shape of his body looked eerily familiar to Malc, the man had a towel draped over his head, hiding his face._

Whatever _, Malcolm thought._ That's a mystery for another day. _He walked out of the sauna and woke to a pinching sensation on his right index finger._

* * *

"I think what you're experiencing is some rebound congestion. It's rare but it happens sometimes. Your nebuliser treatments included a steroid. When you went off the steroid, your lungs responded with additional inflammation and congestion."

"But then we did a nebuliser treatment, and this morning he was worse." Malcolm left the conversation up to Sam. He was still drowsy from the additional treatment he received when they arrived at A&E. He was on an oxygen cannula.

He fell asleep last night after his post-coital nebuliser treatment and awoke to the bite of the pulse oximeter on his finger. Sam had apparently noticed his laboured breathing and wanted to check his oxygen levels. The number, which was not good, led to a call to the 24-hour nurse line followed by a hasty trip in to A&E at five in the morning. Malcolm was still hazy about the details. Apparently, he was pretty out of it.

Doctor Ravi, who was on call, had just arrived and was reviewing the on-duty physician's notes. He looked out of character in his casual clothes. Malc noticed the wedding ring and wondered if Ravi had kids. He was probably a good dad. Right now the Indian doctor looked concerned.

"Patients can sometimes build up a tolerance to the steroid. That means when they use it, it's less effective or they need a higher dose to get the same result. You haven't been on it for very long, and it's not typical to develop resistance this quickly, but it does happen."

"What can we do about it?" Sam hadn't let go of his hand since they got there.

"Rebound congestion usually sorts itself over time, but we need to treat your symptoms, which are serious. Malcolm, when you had trouble yesterday and you used the nebuliser, did you notice any improvement at all?"

Malcolm considered the question before answering. "It did help some. I was still congested afterwards, but less so. But then just a few hours later, I was more congested again."

Doctor Ravi pulled out his prescription pad and scrawled something on the top sheet, which he tore off and handed to Sam. "Let's try a different medication. For today, do one treatment about eight hours from now. If you find you are still congested after that, we may need to admit you. Hopefully that won't be the case.

"Starting tomorrow, do it twice a day, and please call if you find you're still having dyspnea." At Malcolm's look of confusion, Ravi translated out of the medical lingo.

"That's shortness of breath. You should be able to climb a flight of stairs and not have to stop and rest. Once we get past the biopsy, we'll reassess. At that point, we might be able to wean you off of the steroid gradually so you don't have more rebound congestion."

"Thanks, Doc."

"I would also like you to wear the pulse oximeter throughout the day and also at night. If your oxygen levels dip below the threshold, you should use the oxygen."

 _Fuck no. No way._ "But I'm back in the office tomorrow. I dinna want to be dragging that fucking stand around all day. It's embarrassing. I did fine off the oxygen until just yesterday."

"But Malc-"

Doctor Ravi picked up on Malcolm's frustration and cut Sam off. "Malcolm, you told me yourself you almost lost consciousness after just climbing a set of stairs, dancing with your wife, and this morning Sam woke you because your breathing was so bad that she was worried about you, and your sat was at 65%. None of those things are normal. Even when the attendant checked your levels when you got here you were barely at ninety percent even with the oxygen." Putting it that way, Malcolm had to agree that things were pretty serious. Poor Sam, having to deal with this.

"While you've got rebound congestion, you need oxygen support. If the new medication works, your lungs will clear in a day or two, and as long as you're staying above the 90% threshold, you don't need to be on oxygen. Since you're not on an IV any more, we'll set you up with a different stand that's less cumbersome. You've got to have the oxygen with you in case you need it."

Sam squeezed his hand. He didn't look at her because he knew she was fighting back tears. Malcolm nodded, though he still hated the idea of having to walk into Number Ten tomorrow carting around oxygen like some poor old last-gasper.

The doctor hesitated and then continued. "I would also like you to consider staying home until the new medication has a chance to work. I know you have a lot to catch up on, but I'm concerned about this congestion." Malcolm took a moment to manage his reaction. Biting the doctor's head off wouldn't get him anywhere, and he still liked the guy.

"Sorry doc, that's really not possible. I'm only going in for the morning, but I've got to be there tomorrow." With the _Guardian_ write up and potentially something in one or more tabloids _,_ not going in tomorrow would only increase speculation. Thankfully, Sam didn't try to convince him to stay home in front of Doctor Ravi, though she might have a go at it later.

"I understand. See how you feel in the morning. If you still have this much congestion by tomorrow afternoon or Tuesday, or if things get worse, please come in. I'd like to treat this aggressively so we can have you off the oxygen and feeling better as soon as possible."

They left A&E about thirty minutes later with the new medication and oxygen stand. It was cane-height, with the pulse oximeter on top. The oxygen clipped in at the base, which had two wheels, and moved similarly to a hand truck or wheeled luggage.

Other than asking him how he felt, Sam was quiet on the drive home. She looked tired. Malcolm hated to put her through this, and he had a feeling this was just the beginning.


	64. Chapter 64

**Author's Note:**

Thanks so much to the Guest reviewer! Your comment was the high point of my day.

This chapter gets us through Sunday night. Monday ought to be an interesting day for Malcolm.

* * *

 **Text Messages (2)**

 **DAN MILLER:** Saw the article in _The Guardian_. Very sad. U getting pressure from somewhere? LMK if I can help.

 **JAMIE MCDONALD:** It's out there. Monitoring  & will call tonight.

 **Voice Messages (3)**

 **OLIVER REEDER:** "I saw the _Guardian_ write-up. Does this mean Fleming did something? Sorry again about all this. Well, I imagine I will see you later this week. Bye."

 **JULIUS NICHOLSON:** "Saw the _Guardian_ piece, old man. Looks good. Sorry you had to use it. Best of luck tomorrow morning, and I will see you for our nine o'clock."

 **NICOLA MURRAY:** "Malcolm, what's going on? You're all over the papers like a piddling puppy. Ella brought home _The Examiner_ because she recognised your picture on the cover. Is any of this true? I'm concerned about you. Call me. Please."

Malcolm ended the call with Nicola. Of all the texts and voice mails, hers was the only one he felt compelled to return. Nicola upset and flapping about was a loaded cannon of shite, and he knew he needed to quell her concerns before she spread them around. All in all, it went well. He was surprised and somewhat frustrated by her compassion.

Left to her own devices, the bint would likely be over with a pot of chicken soup. Somewhere along the way Malcolm seemed to have triggered her maternal instinct. Once back in the office he'd have to find a way to shut that down without undoing all the headway they had made in their relationship.

He would need to touch base with Jamie later to make sure they were set for the morning, but he didn't feel like doing it right now. It was early afternoon, and Jamie was probably off somewhere with Bev and the kids.

When Malc and Sam got home from hospital at seven thirty in the morning after a very quiet car ride, Sam drew his Blackberry out of her purse and handed it to him. Malcolm saw her eyes were very red.

"Malc, I need some alone time. Why don't you get caught up on things down here? Maybe nap a bit in the guest room? I'm going to have a lie-down upstairs."

"Sure, Luv. Anything I can do?" He reached out and rubbed her arm, but she resisted further contact.

"No, Malc, just give me a few hours, okay? Just need some time."

"Okay, Sam." He watched her as she climbed the stairs and disappeared down the hall, and heard the sound of their bedroom door closing.

She was upset, he knew. Probably very upset. It didn't happen often, but when she got this way Malcolm had learned the best thing to do was to leave her alone and let her sort it out. Naturally, every bone in his body compelled him to go up there and comfort her, but he couldn't, since he was the source of the discomfort.

She stayed up there for about two hours and then came down. She was showered and fully dressed, and obviously going out.

"How are you, Sam?" He gave her a peck on the cheek, which she accepted.

"Okay. Just okay. I'm going out for a bit. Not sure what time I'll be back, so don't wait lunch."

"I love you, Sam."

"I know, Malc. I love you, too."

And with that, she was gone.

Malcolm caught up on his messages and then worked through the three newspapers they took, nodding off a few times in the process. Next, he watched the broadcast news and was relieved to hear no mention of the _Guardian_ write-up or the _Glasgow Daily_ articles. Malc didn't know if Jamie had done some outreach to the top news syndicates or not.

Current focus for News Hour was appropriately the fraud alert issued over the two stray disks containing personal financial and benefits information that The Department of Work and Pensions managed to lose over a month ago. The story wouldn't even be public knowledge without pressure from Jamie on the minister, Benjamin Atwater, to announce it yesterday. Said announcement wouldn't have happened if Malcolm and Jamie hadn't been looking for something newsworthy to divert attention from Malcolm as the _Guardian_ write up got noticed.

15:00 and still no sign of Sam. Malc wished she would at least text him to let him know where she was and when she'd be home. He resisted the urge to call her. She'd made it clear she wanted time away, and he needed to honor that.

Finally, he retrieved the box of new medication from the foyer and made his way upstairs to get the nebuliser. At least the oxygen stand worked a little better on steps than the old one. He took his time, mindful of how he was feeling. By the seventh step he needed to rest, so he put on the oxygen cannula and waited until his sat was above 90%. _Shit, this is getting old_ , he thought. This probably meant sleeping downstairs until things got better.

Even though Doctor Ravi suggested that the congestion was temporary, Malcolm couldn't help but feel like the A&E visit this morning was evidence that his lungs were getting worse, and were likely to continue to get worse. He didn't ask, but he was pretty sure that was the crux of what was bothering Sam.

She was probably scared about the future. He was, too. But he was more worried about Sam having to watch his decline, and nursemaid him along the way. During his darker moments, ending it quickly seemed like a good option, should the biopsy show them that there was no hope.

Malcolm forced the dark thoughts away, and got on with the treatment. No sense thinking that way. It would only make things worse. He shuddered to think where he'd be without those fucking happy pills. Best to just focus on the present. And there was plenty going on there to keep him busy.

* * *

Sam stowed her groceries in the boot of the car and headed towards home. She'd spent most of the morning at Sue's flat, pouring her heart out. Sue, the most compassionate person Sam had ever known, let her use up a whole box of tissues, kept the tea warm and fed her store-bought biscuits until she felt ready to face the world again.

Like a gathering storm, Sam felt this coming on Saturday morning when she met with Bev. It loomed in the background during her date with Malcolm, and finally descended on her as soon as he was asleep. She'd gotten no sleep Saturday night.

His breathing, while slightly better after the nebuliser treatment, got gradually worse as he slept. During the wee hours she vacillated between her suspicion that he wasn't getting enough oxygen, her fear that her obsessive worrying had led to paranoia, and her despondent awareness that this could just be the new normal.

Finally at a little before five in the morning, she could stand it no more. She clipped the pulse oximeter to his finger. The object of her attention opened one drowsy eye and mumbled something she couldn't interpret. His saturation was at 65%.

She had a hard time rousing Malcolm, either because his oxygen level was so low, or the effect of the medications, or both. At any rate, the sat number alone warranted putting the oxygen on him and a call to the 24-hour nurse line. The on-duty nurse advised her to get Malcolm to A&E post haste.

Sam's emotional tsunami advanced further as they were immediately seen to by the attending physician and Malcolm underwent another nebuliser treatment. He was still pretty out of it, and slept through the treatment.

Sam was glad Doctor Ravi happened to be on call. She felt better getting his opinion, since Malcolm's case was unusual and he knew the full history. His concern about the situation scared Sam even more. But at least he identified the probable cause of the breathing trouble and what they could do about it.

Once the emergency was over, Sam knew she couldn't hold back the storm any longer. She'd held it together through some pretty bleak times over the past few weeks and had now reached critical mass.

So once home she went up to the bedroom and cried herself into a fitful nap, after which she called in the Royal Marines. Sue told her to come on over.

Sam was so grateful that Sue just listened and didn't try to offer advice. After Sam was cried out and done explaining the whole situation, Sue gave her a nice hug and invited her to have a nap on the sofa. Sam declined the offer. Feeling free from the dark clouds that had gathered, Sam decided to swing by the market to pick up some things and then head home.

Malcolm met her in the foyer when she came in carrying the groceries. He took the bag and leant down to give her a peck on the cheek.

"There's my girl! How are you feeling?" His congestion did not sound too bad. She saw the mark the oxygen mask left from his nebuliser treatment. Good. Maybe the new medication would work better.

Sam smiled. "Better. I picked up some things for dinner. Did you have some lunch?" She followed him into the kitchen. He didn't seem to have any trouble managing the groceries and the oxygen stand.

"Had a sandwich. You?" Sam nodded. She didn't think Malc needed to know her lunch consisted of a pile of biscuits at Sue's.

They worked together to put away the groceries. Malcolm updated her on what he knew so far about reactions to the _Guardian_ article and additional exposure in the tabloids. Sam was relieved that things seemed to be pretty quiet. Maybe they would get off easy tomorrow. Sam asked him what he'd like for dinner and was laying out the options when he cut her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Sam, can we sit and talk for a bit?" Sam felt a spike of anxiety, but let him guide her to the sit at the kitchen table.

"What, Malc? Is everything okay?" He smiled.

"I'm fine, Luv. Well, as fine as you can be after waking up in A&E on the morning that your embarrassingly sad childhood just got revealed to all of London, and possibly the entire UK." He really did seem remarkably calm, all things considered. He clasped her hand.

"Sam, I just wanted to ask how you're doing. You've been through a lot, and had a scare this morning. I'm worried about you." Sam immediately teared up. She would have thought that impossible after all the crying she'd done at Sue's. How to answer his question? She sighed, swiped at her eyes, and pulled herself together.

"Malc, I'm just scared. I didn't sleep last night, worrying about your breathing. I read about pulmonary fibrosis on the Internet, and that just made things worse. I don't want to lose you." That got her a hug. She cried a little on his shoulder. Malcolm wasn't big on emotional displays, but he knew how to be there for her. Finally, she went to the sink to splash cool water on her face.

"Sam, I'm scared too. I donna want you to have to see me get worse and have to be my carer. But we don't know what's going to happen. Things could get better once the doc knows more from the biopsy. And if not…if not, I'd like to ask Dr. Ravi if there's a support group for family members. I donna like the idea of you going through something like this alone."

Sam fought to maintain her composure and won. She thought about bringing up what Doctor Ravi said about not going into the office until his breathing had cleared. If she was going to do it, now might be the time. But she knew why he wanted to be there, and how important it was to him. _Let's see how he is in the morning,_ she thought.

"Let's not talk about this anymore right now, okay? Now what would you like for dinner?"

So they talked about pork tenderloin versus roast chicken instead of what might happen next with his health, the media, Steve Fleming, or the investigation in Glasgow. Roast chicken won out.

* * *

"So _The Tattler_ and _The Examiner_ both picked up the _Glasgow Daily_ articles. Have you seen them yet?"

"No, but I heard about _The Examiner_ one from Nicola, who saw it in the market. Front page, too. They must have been pretty hard up for material." Malcolm coughed and cleared his throat. Jamie called shortly after dinner.

"I will bring you a set tomorrow. At least _The Examiner_ just basically reprinted the articles. Mind you, it's a full centre-spread, plus the cover."

"What about _The Tattler_?" Jamie paused before answering.

"They went pretty far off the reservation. But they framed everything as questions, so nothing is presented as facts. Good thing, too, because if they did then they'd have you in and out of prison for violent outbreaks and charges of lechery and indecent exposure."

Malcolm sighed. "That bad." Thank God for those happy pills.

"Well, at least there were no extra-terrestrial implications."

"It would almost be a relief if there were."

"Anyway, I will bring copies to the office tomorrow. Are you still coming in?"

Malcolm coughed again. "Yes. We'll be there by 7:30."

"I will get in a bit earlier and call if there are any press hanging about. If so, are you still good with the front door?"

Malcolm considered it. In the event that the press pack was waiting for him, Malcolm had originally planned to go in the front door. He and Jamie worked up some lines to cut off the scrutiny and redirect attention to more newsworthy events. But now, he'd have the oxygen. While he really didn't want to show any weakness his first day back, the reality was he'd be better off carting oxygen through the press pack than potentially passing out in front of them.

"Yep, front door is okay." Malc cleared this throat. Sam came in from the kitchen and handed him a mug of tea. He sipped it gratefully.

"Malc, you sound worse. You okay?"

Malcolm considered lying, but Jamie would also see the oxygen tomorrow. Best to get it over with.

"Had a bit of a set-back in the night." Sam rubbed his shoulder. "We've got it sorted with a new medication, but I've got the oxygen back for the time being. Hopefully not for long."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that. Are you sure about tomorrow?" Malc rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure. See you in the morning."

There was a split-second hesitation on the other end of the phone. "Right. See you tomorrow."

Malcolm disconnected the call.


	65. Chapter 65

**Author's Note:**

It's Monday, and Malcolm is finally back in the office. I hope to get the next chapter up this weekend, mid-week at the latest.

* * *

 **JAMIE:** Lots of press at entrance – some legit and some trash. Front door still a go?

 **MALCOLM:** Yep – 2 min. away.

 **JAMIE:** K

Malcolm and Sam sat at the last red light before their turn onto Downing Street.

"Are you sure, Malc?"

"Yes, Luv."

"Then put on the oxygen and get ready." He did as he was told.

In working through the logistics of the new nebuliser treatment schedule, he and Sam decided he should wait to do the first treatment of the day until noon so that the second one could be right before bed. So far, his breathing was no better on the new medication, but no worse. His oxygen saturation seemed to want to stay in the low nineties, with occasional dips below 90%, which required him to use the oxygen to get back above the threshold.

Unbeknownst to Sam, he'd nearly keeled over in the shower this morning. Perhaps the steam made it harder to breathe. He leaned forward with his head down and his elbows on his knees until the giddiness passed, then hastily rinsed off and got out. His sat was 79%, and he had to sit on the toilet with the oxygen on for a full two minutes before he felt up to toweling off and getting dressed. Not the most auspicious of beginnings for his first day back at the office.

In spite of the anti-anxiety medication, his stomach was in knots. They had seen no press in front of their home when they left for work, and Malc had hoped to be just as lucky at the office. He was grateful for Jamie's heads up. He knew a press-free entrance was a long shot. He'd already had voice messages from Angela Heaney at _The Daily Mail_ and Geoffrey at _The Guardian,_ and also a number of emails from other editors, expressing well wishes and angling for more information about his return to work and the _Guardian_ and tabloid articles.

He listened to the two voice messages on the drive in. Angela wanted to meet up, no doubt to do some background and see if _The Mail_ could publish a follow-on piece. Geoffrey wished him luck his first day back, and thanked him for letting them do the write-up.

He wished he could just skip past these next few hours and rejoin the show once everything had gone more or less back to normal. Or whatever the new normal was going to be.

They rounded the corner and the entrance to Number Ten came into view. Sure enough, there were about twenty members of the press in a tight scrum around the door. Christ, there were even cameramen and sound people. _I'm not the fucking pope, people_. He recognised most of them, and somehow that made it even worse. Everyone in that throng knew at least something about his childhood. He was now The Story, something he'd spent his whole life trying not to be.

Sam pulled to the curb and turned to face him. She nervously straightened his tie and then patted his chest. Her expression was pensive, to say the least. Malc knew she wanted him to stay home today, but she never said a thing to him about it. At this very moment, he wished he'd followed Doctor Ravi's recommendation.

"Okay, here we are," her lower lip trembled when she smiled. "Now don't take too long out here. Show them who's boss, then come straight inside, please. I will be waiting. How's your sat?"

Malcolm checked his number. "93." It would probably be higher if he weren't so tense.

"Keep your oxygen on." Malc rolled his eyes.

"Of course, Luv."

"And don't let them give you any shit." Now she had tears in her eyes. Great. "I bet Jamie's on the other side of that door. If he isn't I will make sure he gets out here to help reign things in."

By now, the press had spotted him in the car and were swarming toward them, cameras and mics in tow. Sam gave him a firm peck on the cheek.

"I love you, Malc. This will be over soon." Malcolm couldn't talk due to a hard lump in his throat, so he smiled tightly, took a deep breath through the cannula, and opened the car door.

* * *

"Malcolm! Welcome back!"

"How are you feeling, Malc?"

"I saw _The Guardian_ article. Would you care to comment?"

"Is there any truth to what was in _The Examiner_?"

"How much do you remember about your father's trial?"

The crowd pressed forward. Malcolm could feel the heat generated by the tightly packed group. He stepped fully out of the car onto the walkway, carefully placing the oxygen stand on his right. Things got very quiet. He finally looked up. The startled expressions on their faces gave him pause. He spotted Angela Heaney, and noticed how she traced the line from the oxygen canister up to the cannula.

Timing was everything.

"Nice to have a welcoming committee my first day back. I've kept up with things, so don't think I donna know what you've been printing about the PM. Now that I'm back you'll have to pull back on all that divisive rhetoric about the reshuffle. It's done and dusted."

There was a brief pause, and then the questions resumed. He knew it would be too easy if his first sally shut them down.

"Malc, what's with the oxygen?"

"Do you still have pneumonia?"

"Did your father really murder your brother?"

"Did you really spend time in gaol?"

Malcolm held up a hand to cut through the chatter. As he faced the cameras for his rebuttal he noticed Jamie had come out and was prepared to jump in if Malc gave him the signal.

"Now Luv, you know that's none of your fuckin business, right? I mean, have I ever asked you when you started menstruating? When you lost your virginity? Fuck no. Why? Because it's _personal_."

Malcolm felt a little giddy and paused to breathe and glance down at the sat monitor, which beeped. 89%. He waited until his sat climbed back to 92%. They waited, too, and that's when he knew it was going to be okay. He smiled to show that their questions didn't rattle him in the slightest.

"Look, I donna know what you lot think you're doing here. I'm not the story. I'm just a guy showing up to do a job. Meanwhile, you're missing out on the real news." Now he had them.

"Let's see, who's missing? I don't see anyone from _The Guardian_. Any _Guardian_ writers here? No? Well, that makes sense, because they're probably over at Benji Atwater's office getting the latest about the fraud alert over the data loss. Or maybe they're down at Heathrow, getting the latest from Dan Miller about the China talks before he jets out." When Malcolm had finally followed up with Miller Sunday night, Dan had offered himself as a diversion, if needed. The China trip was not public knowledge. Well, not until now.

"Folks, you've been scooped. Now clear out and let me get to work. We'll see you later." He nodded to Jamie, who stepped between Malcolm and the press pack and did the clean up while Malcolm trundled the oxygen stand toward the door.

"You heard the man, show's over. Best get back to covering the news, right?" Malcolm didn't stay to see how it went. He passed through the door and into the foyer, where Sam was waiting.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek and wrapped him into a tight hug. They never did affectionate displays at the office, but Malcolm couldn't deny that he needed it. His ears were ringing and he felt somehow untethered from his body, as if he were about to float away. Sam grounded him as no one else could.

As Sam released him he felt Jamie squeeze his shoulder, guiding him to the right instead of to the left, toward his office.

"You won't want to go in there yet. The team organised a welcome. They're all in your office, hiding and waiting to jump out at you." Malcolm realised Jamie was leading him down the hall toward his own office. He breathed through the cannula and when they got to Jamie's cramped office, he sank gratefully into the visitor's chair.

Jamie squeezed his shoulder again, studying his face. "Are you okay? You're white as fuckin paste." Jamie didn't look too good himself, Malcolm mused. He looked like he'd had maybe three espressos too many this morning. Sweat beaded on his brow.

"They really organised a welcome?" Malcolm didn't know whether to be touched, amused, or furious. Jamie nodded, pushing a stack of files aside so he could perch on the edge of his desk.

"What's the reaction so far?"

"Well, they all read the _Guardian_ piece. Coverly had both _The Tattler_ and _The Examiner_ with her, so by now they've probably been around the room." Malcolm regretted his morning oatmeal, which wanted to escape. He swallowed hard.

"Overall, they're concerned. Mostly, I think they're not sure how to act or what to say." Malcolm grunted. _No shit._ He was struggling with the same dilemma.

"Terri asked after your health. They're all worried, but she was there, and I'm sure she gave them the full report based on what she saw."

Malcolm worked to distance himself from things so he could think clearly. If he were working with a minister in a situation like this, he'd probably advise him to either shut it down and get the focus back on business, or address it head on. As much as he wanted to pretend nothing had changed and get everyone back to business as usual, he knew that wasn't the way to go.

"So I will name the elephant in the room. Both elephants. But we'll address it quickly and move on. No more than five minutes."

"Okay. Sounds good. What are you going to do about the surprise?" Jamie looked anxious, and Malc knew the poor fuck had no idea how he would react, and that's why he told him in advance. Good man.

"Act surprised, I guess. Now, can we get in there and get this bit over with? Time is money."


	66. Chapter 66

**Author's Note:**

This chapter takes us to Monday afternoon. Hope you enjoy! I will get to work on the next one.

* * *

"Surprise!"

Even though he knew about it, Malcolm still jumped when the comms team popped up from their hiding places and turned on the lights. While he wasn't very good at disassembling, he thought he did a pretty good job of acting surprised.

They had even ordered in muffins and coffee from the bakery on the corner. Even though his stomach was still in knots, Malcolm picked out a scone and ate a few bites to show appreciation for his team's well wishes. Everyone tried to be discrete and not mention the oxygen, but he noticed them stealing glances at the medical equipment.

"Welcome back, Malcolm. You look much better than the last time I saw you!" This was from Coverly, of course. She'd been there when he passed out during the DoSAC meeting. She moved in close, studying his face.

"I can still see the bruise from where you hit your head." She turned back to the rest of the team. "It was awful. He hit it on the hearth. There was blood everywhere."

Thankfully, Jamie cut her off.

"Malcolm's only in for the morning, so let's get cracking. You've all seen the write up on Malcolm in _The Guardian_. There were two other pieces we know of in tabloids, and there may be others as things unfold. Let's take a few minutes on that and then move on to other business." He looked over to Malcolm, who sat at the head of the conference table, signaling everyone else to be seated. While they were getting settled, he stole a glance at the sat monitor before beginning.

"I know you all have questions about what was in those articles, so let me give you a little background. A few weeks ago, someone discovered the original _Glasgow Daily_ articles and sent them to the editor of _The Guardian_ and another individual. Instead of doing anything with them, _The Guardian_ wisely brought them to me. The other individual didn't. This person emailed them to an unknown number of newspapers and news syndicates.

"Some of you helped with the phone bank on Friday night to plug the leak. Thanks to you, there was minimal exposure. The _Guardian_ article was something we arranged as a contingency when we first learned of the leak. I approved its release over the weekend when we heard about the email."

The oxygen monitor beeped. Malcolm paused to breathe. Jamie picked up the narrative, but he didn't have everyone's full attention. They were all still looking at Malcolm.

"So, if anyone contacts you for information about any of the content on that, here's the line: This is not news. This is someone digging up old coverage from the 1970's to create swirl. And then, push them toward one of these two issues: the fraud alert, or Dan Miller's unpublicised trip to China."

Nick cleared his throat. "Malcolm, I saw the _Examiner_ piece, which had the original articles. Is that all true?"

The entire team waited for an answer. Malc's first instinct was to tell him it was NFB – none of your fucking business. But Nick's concerned expression fetched him up sharply. If there was one thing Malcolm had learned from this whole omnishambles, it was that he couldn't live a lie any more.

"Yes, it's all true. And I'm not going to talk about it, so donna ask. I'm not the fucking story. And if you _do_ ask, you will receive a bollocking beyond your wildest imagination. You wilna be able to sit down for weeks due the sheer scale of the ass-reaming we're talking about here. Are we clear?" Malcolm got a chorus of emphatic nods. Good.

"One more thing before we move on. You've probably noticed I've got some medical gear. I had pneumonia and they put me on a breathing treatment with a steroid. When I went off the steroid, I got a little rebound congestion. It's temporary and should clear up in a few days. I still get pretty tired, so the doc doesn't want me in the office much this week. I will be here for critical meetings but otherwise will be working remotely. If anything comes up, call or text me, or reach out to Jamie."

They still looked embarrassingly concerned. Not much he could do about it. Malc turned the rest of the meeting over to Jamie, who led them through the top issues and talking points for communications around current events.

Malcolm sat back and watched, glad to not be the central focus of the meeting. Here it was, not even nine in the morning, and he was already tired. Jamie did well with the team. He seemed more confident to Malc than upon previous occasions, probably due to his two weeks of leading the comms meetings while Malcolm was out. He made a mental note to mention that to Jamie some time soon.

 _I need to work on that succession plan_ , Malcolm thought. If it turned out that he would be out of the office more after the biopsy, or if something happened and he was unable to return to work, would Jamie be able to step into the role?

 _He's got to work on that anger. It's a fatal flaw._ Malcolm reflected on what Ollie said the other day about being afraid of Jamie. Many others had voiced the same sentiment. Malcolm knew that also played out at home. He'd wondered more than once if any of Jamie and Bev's fights ever got physical. He didn't want to think Jamie would hit his wife, but when he got angry, he didn't seem to have much of a governor. Hopefully the couples counselling would help.

* * *

After the comms meeting, Malcolm headed up to the PM's office for his nine o'clock. When he arrived at the reception desk, Sue came around front and gave him a big hug. That was his second embarrassingly emotional display of the day.

The first few moments with the PM were uncomfortable. The PM, who was normally stoic and business-focussed, had tears in his eyes when he stood to greet him, clasping his shoulder as he led him to his usual chair.

"Pull yourself together, Boss, I'm not fucking dying here." Malcolm was trying to lighten things up, but in retrospect, he wished he'd chosen some other words. Julius arrived moments later, and they got down to business.

They spent a few minutes on the current press swirl around Malcolm. Julius drove the conversation, steering it noticeably away from the details of Malcolm's past and keeping the focus on risks associated with additional press exposure. _Thanks, Baldie, I owe you one_ , Malcolm thought.

Overall, Malcolm felt optimistic that the paedophile angle Fleming tried to work wouldn't catch on. Jamie had done all the right things to neutralise that threat – just another example of his ability to manage the media under exigent circumstances.

The PM got emotional again when Malcolm said he'd be out Friday for the biopsy, and that's when Malcolm remembered the party leader had lost a brother to cancer earlier in the year. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned that it was a biopsy.

Malcolm invited Jamie up for the last hour of the meeting so that he would be poised to cover anything that came up on Friday while Malcolm was out. Jamie seemed relaxed and confident in front of the PM. During Malcolm's time away, Jamie seemed to have found an effective approach in the way he presented information and made recommendations. And the PM responded to it. It seemed that his illness had accelerated Jamie's development. All to the good, since he may be called upon to serve much sooner than Malcolm anticipated.

Jamie accompanied Malcolm in the elevator on the way down after the meeting.

"You did well in there. The PM likes you, you know." Jamie blushed slightly.

"Well, I don't say fuck every other word like you do, so I can see how he might find me a refreshing change."

"I do that to keep him on his toes. Man needs a bad boy to challenge him."

"He respects you, though. I bet you're the only one who can get away with that." Malcolm smiled.

"Don't I know it."

They left the elevator and headed to Malcolm's office. Knowing the day was tightly packed, Sam had ordered sandwiches. They had lunch and discussed the business at hand for the day. Jamie asked about the status on Fleming and Malcolm told him what he'd learned from Peel about the detox programme and timing on his release and the restraining order.

Malcolm finally kicked Jamie out so he could do his breathing treatment. Similarly to what he experienced with the original treatment, he found himself very drowsy for about twenty minutes afterwards, and there was nothing he could do about that. Sam had thoughtfully blocked his calendar so he could have a short snooze on the sofa in his office.

Malcolm awoke to Sam shaking his shoulder to let him know the car from the service was here to take him to St. Thomas's.


	67. Chapter 67

**Author's Note:**

Here is a short chapter for the weekend. I hope to start work on the next directly, but it might not be ready for publication until the end of the week. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

It was with relief that Jamie saw the car from the service pull away from Number Ten with Malcolm in it. The enforcer looked pale and tired by lunchtime, and Jamie was glad he hadn't tried to soldier through the whole day.

Malcolm was rock solid in front of the press pack when he first arrived. He stuck to the line and didn't seem to be shaken by any of their questions. If Jamie were in a similar situation, he knew he wouldn't have been able to pull it off nearly as well. As it was, Jamie had almost lost his cool when some of the sleazier journalists turned to him with the same questions they'd tried on Malcolm, as if he would tell them something more about Malcolm's illness or abusive childhood. Fucking vultures.

The old bastard had also handled things well with the team, though Jamie had to stifle a smile when Malcolm tried to act surprised when the team jumped out at him. Jamie wondered about what Malcolm gave the team as the reason he was on oxygen. Was it truly just an after-effect of the steroid, or was that a story to keep attention away from his illness?

Back in his own office, Jamie closed the door and sat at his desk. He sighed deeply, trying to clear his mind of the many competing priorities of the day. Time to focus on some pressing construction and repair work.

He'd heard every word Malcolm said Saturday morning. As of that conversation, Jamie was officially over the whole rage thing. It just had to change, and he knew it was way bigger and stronger than him. He knew he couldn't fix it on his own.

Sighing again, he dug out his Blackberry and found Bertie's number in his contacts. His old sponsor picked up on the second ring.

"Jamie McD., as I live and breathe! How are you?" Jamie felt the prick of tears at Bertie's creaky old tenor. It had been too long.

"Good, mate. Still on the wagon. Took a break from meetings for a while, but now I'm back."

"That's good news. Was worried about you, you know. Missed our coffee chats." That got a smile out of Jamie. Some of those coffee chats started at eight in the evening and ran through 2 a.m.

"Me too, Bertie, me too. Have to have one soon. Listen, I've got a thing I was hoping you could help me with."

* * *

Malcolm sat stiffly in the back seat of the car from the service. He watched the street signs go by, glad to have his first day back at the office behind him. With each successive block, he felt himself mentally stepping away from the bustle and fanfare of Number Ten. At the same time, as they drew nearer to St. Thomas's and Malcolm's appointment with Dr. Jacobs, he felt the opposite effect – his past was rushing toward him like an express train.

Whilst monitoring the press exposure and preparing his return to the office, it was easy to lose sight of the other landmines he'd have to navigate today. _Oh yeah. My father. The abuse. The possible sexual abuse. Colin Clatcher. Fuck. I thought facing the press would be hard. That's child's play compared to this shit here._

This would be his first solo shrink appointment. Malcolm knew that was how it typically worked. Jacobs had gone over all that at the end of their first consultation. Still, it was hard to do it alone. Sam had been such a champ through everything; he hadn't had to face any of it on his own. But if he was going to really do this, best to cut the cord and get on with it. He still wasn't sure if he was ready to open up to Jacobs.

Malcolm also questioned his reasoning for setting up the Peel appointment on the same day, thus necessitating a second trip down memory lane. Here it was, one o'clock in the afternoon, and Malcolm would be happy to go home and tumble straight into bed. They were originally going to meet in Peel's office, but Malcolm changed the venue because he was worried about what it might look like to any lingering journalists if he was seen going into Hammersmith Station.

He knew the Detective Chief Inspector had updates, and worried that things had progressed perhaps further than he was prepared for, but doing both appointments on the first day was a bit much. Hopefully Peel would have an update, but would not need any input from Malcolm. He was tapped out.

Sam wouldn't be at the Peel meeting, either. She was in an admin pool meeting until 16:00. After all the time she'd been away from the office, she didn't feel she could miss it. All for the best, Malcolm thought. After the weekend he'd just put her through, the lass deserved a break.

He still wondered what Peel shared with Sam when they spoke on Friday. If they had spoken about anything of substance, Sam was careful to keep that to herself. On and off since then, Malcolm had to restrain himself from asking, knowing that if Sam was withholding any news about the investigation it was out of concern for him.

Malcolm's Blackberry buzzed just as the car pulled up to the front entrance of St. Thomas's. It was a text from Sam.

 **SAMANTHA:** On a break – pls text me when ur done with Jacobs. XOXO


	68. Chapter 68

**Author's Note:**

This chapter came together much sooner than expected, so here you go. Malcolm's with Jacobs. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

The post-lunch traffic meant that Malcolm arrived at St. Thomas's a few minutes late for his appointment. Doctor Jacobs met him as he entered the office waiting area. Malcolm saw his eyes drop briefly to the oxygen on its stand as he waved him into the office, his face reflecting concern.

"Good to see you again, Malcolm. How are you feeling? I see you're on oxygen." At least the psychologist acknowledged his observation, unlike everyone else that saw Malcolm with the oxygen today.

Malcolm chose the same seat he used during the last appointment and sat down gratefully. While the walk from the elevator to Jacobs' office wasn't far, Malcolm had moved a bit faster than he probably should have due to the late arrival and was both tired and winded.

"Had a little trouble over the weekend. I'm on a new medication now and should be better soon."

Jacob offered coffee, which Malcolm welcomed. He sipped tentatively from the steaming cup as the doctor sat in the chair Sam used on their last visit.

"You're not going to sit at your desk?"

Jacobs crossed his legs. "No. I don't like to use the desk much during actual appointments. It gets in the way. Do you mind?"

"No, it's fine. Just curious." Jacobs let the silence spin out. Malcolm did not try to fill the void.

"I saw the _Guardian_ article about you in Sunday's paper."

"Yes, we put it out as a contingency. Fleming – the disgruntled employee I told you about last time – ended up sending the original articles about my father's trial to the majority of the press and media editors. Turns out a few of the tabloids ran with it, so we were right to get the _Guardian_ piece out there."

Jacob grunted. "Sorry to hear that. I imagine that was pretty stressful. How have you been managing through all of that?"

Malcolm sighed, which stirred up the congestion in his lungs. He coughed for a bit and then had a sip of coffee.

"It's been okay. It's not what we wanted to happen, but Jamie did a great job of getting ahead of it. He had the team get on the phones to all the editors to convince them not to use the material Fleming sent. Most of them didn't. If it weren't for Jamie, it could have been much worse."

"Sounds like your support team took good care of you. From what you told me last week, it sounded like you were pretty concerned about this information about you going public. Now it has. What are you feeling?"

 _Here we go. Into the feelings shit._ Malcolm thought about it a little. "I'm not sure. I was mad, at first. Scared. Nervous. But really okay, I guess. I think those happy pills you gave me really helped, though they make me groggy. It's like I knew all this stuff was happening, but I was removed from it.

"The hardest part was when I got to Number Ten this morning and the press was waiting. It all went okay, but it was hard, knowing they'd all read up on me and knew about my father and the abuse. I mean, I know all these people. I've worked with them all, and I have to keep a certain level of professional detachment."

"What did you feel while that was going on?"

"Mostly angry."

"What was under the anger?"

Malcolm felt a tweak of irritation and let it show. "There's a touchy-feely question. 'What was _under_ the anger.' Really? Can't anger just be anger? Of course I was angry. They didna have any right to ask me about my father or whether or not I really went to gaol."

"And right there, that felt like you were trying to cover something up with more anger. That's called deflecting. It's a mechanism. I challenge you to set aside your judgment about what we're doing here and really consider the question. Even watching you I can see that there's more going on than just being mad about some reporters. You look like you might be sad."

"I'm not sad." Malcolm felt himself getting angry again, but fought to not go there. He'd just given Jamie coaching about this on Saturday, and here he was, doing it himself. At the same time he noticed a painful knot in his chest. Was he really sad?

"Not sad. Ashamed. I feel ashamed. Now everybody knows."

"What do they know?"

"They know about my childhood."

"What about your childhood?" That anger rose up again. Malcolm ignored it and breathed.

"The abuse. The way my brother died. What I did to my father. All of it."

"What are you ashamed of?"

"I could've prevented it. I should have fought back. I should have told somebody what was going on. If I had, Duncan would still be alive today. Perhaps other boys." Something flashed across Jacob's face at the mention of other boys, and Malcolm remembered he hadn't told him about Colin Clatcher yet.

"Malcolm, how old were you when this was all going on?"

"I think the physical abuse might have started when I was six. Not sure. Maybe it started earlier, but I don't remember it. And Duncan died when I was fourteen."

"You were a child, then. I recall that you and Sam don't have children. What about your sister? Do you have any nieces or nephews? Any children in your life?"

"Sure. I have a niece and nephew. They're nearly teenagers, now. I don't see them often anymore because they moved back to Scotland a few years ago. My mate, Jamie, has a boy and girl. They're younger, six and two."

"Let's talk about Jamie's kids. What's the six-year-old's name?" Malcolm failed to see the relevance, but went along with it.

"Morgan. He just had his birthday." Malcolm recalled the disturbing flashback he'd had at Morgan's party.

"What's your relationship with Morgan like?" Malcolm smiled.

"He's a great kid. Very sharp. But quiet, though. I think he'll be an intellectual. I usually have a hard time bonding with children. Just not very comfortable with them. But he and I hit it off."

"If something were going wrong at home, would you blame Morgan for not telling you about it?"

"Of course not. He's a kid."

"And if there was abuse, for instance, how would he even know it wasn't supposed to be that way?" Malcolm reflected back on his concerns about Jamie's temper. This example was a little close to home.

"I see where you're going, Jacobs, but with my situation it was different. I was much older than my sister and brother. I knew what was going on was wrong and I didn't tell anyone. I hid it, in fact. I was responsible for watching out for Julia and Duncan and I should have done something to make sure they didna get the same treatment."

"Now think about your sister's kids. They're nearly teenagers. If something were going wrong at home, would you hold them responsible for bringing it to your attention?"

Malcolm felt like an idiot. "No."

"As their uncle, I'm sure your first question wouldn't be 'why didn't you tell me?' It would probably be 'are you okay?'"

"Or maybe 'Where's the fucker who did that to you so I can rip his bollocks off and stuff them down his throat?'"

"Hopefully in a more age-appropriate way, but you see my point. You weren't responsible for what went on in your home when you were six or fourteen. You were a victim of the situation." Malcolm cringed at the word. Jacob noticed.

"I know that's the last thing you want to hear. Nobody wants to be a victim. Especially men." Malcolm had nothing to say to that. They sat in silence for a few moments. Malcolm resisted the urge to glance down at his watch.

"So, your father was the abuser. Where was your mother in all of this?"

"She wasna up to the challenge. She was a very nervous woman. As long as I can remember, she was on a lot of medication. All of that prevented her from seeing what was going on."

"What was going on? Can you give me some examples?" Malcolm wished he could just download all of the details somehow, rather than recapitulate them. Talking about his father still felt very dangerous, even though the fucking wanker was a mouldering corpse buried in a pauper's grave somewhere in Glasgow. As a communications guy, he paused for a moment to frame things as concisely as he could to paint the picture.

"He had a temper. It would turn on a dime. It felt like the whole world revolved around him and his moods. If I did anything wrong, he'd hit me. If Julia or Duncan did anything wrong, he'd hit me. Sometimes it was just a punch on the arm, but other times, it was a lot more.

"Sometimes he'd go off on me when I hadna done anything. Maybe I breathed too loud. I dunno. It seemed like the rules changed at random. What was acceptable changed. When he was drinking it was worse. It got to where I felt like he was just looking for reasons to hurt me. There were a few big things. We probably don't have time for me to tell you about those today."

"Tell me about one of them."

Malcolm coughed, cleared his throat, and sipped his coffee. "There was one time when I was six. We were working on the car in the garage when suddenly he attacked me for no reason. I woke up in the shed, bound hand and foot. There was an open vat of chlorine in there. He kept me locked up out there all day. That's what happened to my lungs. Scarring." He watched Jacob's face carefully.

"That's horrible, Malcolm. I'm sorry you had to go through that. It must have been terrifying to live in a home where you never knew what was going to happen." Malcolm nodded, relieved to get through that story and move on. Every time he told it he worried about the reaction of the listener. But so far, no one had told him it sounded far-fetched, or discounted what he went through. He still hated talking about it, but was coming to believe that talking about it might well work better than pretending it never happened.

"Did he do any of the abuse in front of your mother?"

"Mostly not, it was more secretive, but she knew about it. She was always working one or more jobs, so she wasna home a lot, and when she was, she was either pretending nothing was wrong, playing Suzie homemaker in the kitchen, or she was bedridden with a migraine. He would take me out into the garage when he really wanted to do some damage. Or, he'd wait until we were home alone. He never took me back into the shed after that one time."

"Was there any sexual abuse?" Malcolm felt himself blanch. His stomach tightened up and his heart went into overdrive. The Pulse-Oximeter gave a warning beep. Malcolm breathed. Jacob waited, his expression open and neutral.

"I dinna know. I dinna remember anything, but maybe."

"Why do you say maybe?"

"During the investigation into Duncan's death, the caseworker asked me if there was any inappropriate touching. She was pretty explicit. I told her no. Back at school, one of the teachers asked me about it, too. It seemed like several adults suspected my father of – doing things – with me. And the kids gave me rations of shit during the trial. They all apparently heard about it from their parents. Called me names. Said my Da was a pervo. The boys used to ask me how many times I'd sucked my father's cock. They asked me if I swallowed. There was this one older boy who tried to get me to do that with him. It wasna easy, being a teen-ager with that hanging over you."

"Do you have any memories of your father doing anything sexual with you?"

"No. And yet…I had a weird flashback at Morgan's party last week. Did I tell you about it?"

"You mentioned you had one, but didn't go into any detail."

"Well, Sam and I were at Morgan's birthday party. Sam was holding Maisie, Jamie's two-year-old, and Maisie started to squirm. Jamie came over and took Maisie from Sam. That triggered something for me. Suddenly, I was six years old, back in Maryhill, watching my father hold a boy about Maisie's age. He didna do anything to the bairn, but the feelings I had were so strong. I was mad that he was paying attention to that boy and not me. It felt like recently he decided he didna want anything to do with me anymore. I couldna figure out what I'd done to make him hate me so much. Just that morning he had hit me hard in the ribs when I tried to climb in his lap.

"That's all I remember of that day when I was six. When I snapped out of it, I had to go outside and puke behind Jamie's bushes. I was shaking all over and sweating. It was hours before I felt anywhere close to normal."

"That sounds like a very powerful memory."

"Doc, do you think it means I was sexually abused?"

"I don't know enough about things to have an opinion about that yet. If your father was a preferential offender, he may have been attracted to a specific type of child, or a certain age range. If that were the case, his behavior change might have meant you were either growing into or out of that preferred age range. Most sexual predators go for pubescent children, but there is also a sub-group of offenders who prefer much younger children. Infants, even. But again, without more information, it would be premature to form an opinion.

"From what you've told me so far, something happened when you were six that was traumatic enough to cause you to have this flashback. That time in the shed, did it happen before or after the memory you had of watching your father with that boy?"

"It had to be after, because after that I wanted nothing to do with him, for obvious reasons." Malcolm thought some more. He had already shared way more than he meant to. He was surprised at how quickly he found himself trusting Jacobs. It felt good to have someone other than Sam to talk to about this stuff with.

"Since that day at Morgan's party, I've thought about it and realised I really don't remember anything at all from before I was six. There's just this void. Is that normal?"

"Childhood memories are tricky. From a developmental standpoint, most adults have memories from the age of four. Many adults have even earlier memories. Some can recall vague memories from when they were infants. It varies from person to person. If you can't remember anything that happened earlier than when you were six, it could mean you have a block due to trauma, but it could also be normal."

"You don't really have a lot of answers, do you?" Jacobs smiled.

"Nope. You're the one with all the answers. I'm the guy with the questions to help uncover them."

"There's another touchy-feely line. Suppose I've got to get used to those if I'm going to keep coming here." Malcolm suspected he would. Probably for a long, long time. As much as he wanted it to, this shit didn't get solved overnight.

"I would say so." Jacobs allowed another pause. He looked like he was considering what Malcolm had shared so far.

"Have you had any new nightmares or flashbacks since we last met?"

"No, but I've had some trippy dreams. Not nightmares, just really vivid dreams."

"Lucid dreams are a common side effect of this medication. And you said the medication makes you groggy."

"Yes, though I'm also on something to help my appetite, and then I'm on the nebuliser treatments, which also make me sleepy."

"Are you on the appetite medication to gain weight before your surgery?" Malcolm was surprised Jacobs remembered the biopsy from their discussion the previous week. He nodded.

"That one's just for the surgery, which is this Friday. No telling about the nebuliser treatment. I'm actually on a stronger dosage now because when I stopped using it last week I got some rebound congestion. Ended up in A&E. Scared the shit out of Sam. I still have it, and that's why I'm back on oxygen."

Jacobs stood and went around to the other side of his desk. He opened a file folder that Malcolm assumed contained notes from their last appointment. Jacob perused the contents for a moment.

"I think I'd like to change your prescription to make sure you don't experience any interactions with the other medications, which may contribute to the drowsiness. Sometimes the medication you're on can cause an accumulation of fluid in the lungs, especially while you're lying down, so it's probably not a good medication for you right now." He pulled out a prescription pad and scribbled for a moment, then tore off the top sheet and handed it to Malcolm.

"This is a lower dose of a different anti-anxiety medication. It works similarly to the original medication, only it has fewer side effects. Hopefully with this dosage, you will feel less sleepy and more connected to what's going on, but with less chance of nightmares and flashbacks." Malcolm glanced down, but the medical scrawl on the order appeared to be in another language.

"But there's still a chance I will have flashbacks? I'm in a high-profile position, Doc, especially now. I canna afford to malfunction in public."

Jacobs acknowledged his concern. "If it weren't for your other medications and respiratory challenges, the original medication would be the one to go with. This one is still very good, and will cause less interference with your breathing, but I want to see you again before Friday so I can see how it's going and adjust it, if needed. Please don't hesitate to call if you need to, either about the medication or if anything should come up between appointments."

After the appointment, Malcolm worked with the receptionist to get a Wednesday slot that corresponded nicely with his appointment for pre-operative lab work. Sam would be proud of him. Or would call and reschedule if he'd bolloxed things up on his calendar.

* * *

The car from the service was waiting at the curb. Once they were moving, Malcolm texted Sam to let her know he was out of the appointment. The phone rang moments later.

"How did it go?" Sam sounded pensive. Malcolm knew she hated not being there.

"Okay, I guess. Going back on Wednesday right after my blood work appointment."

"Did you put it in your diary?"

"Yes, I did. He also changed my meds. Just got the new ones from the chemist on my way out."

"You'll be late for your Peel appointment."

"I called him on the way to St. Thomas and moved it to later and at our house. Headed there next."

"Listen, Malc, Peel gave me an update on Friday and I didn't share it with you because I was worried about it being one thing too many." Malcolm was quiet. _I knew it. Here it comes._

"Peel said they suspect that your father may be tied to several child disappearances." Malcolm breathed. He was glad he was still on the original dose of happy pills. Even with them, he was furious.

" _Luv_." That was about all he could say safely.

"Malc, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't tell you. He had some questions for you but I told him we needed the weekend." _Oh, Sam._

"How mad are you at me?" He heard the stress in her voice that meant tears were close.

"Sam, it's my _father_." She was silent on the other end of the call.

"I know why you did it, Luv. I do. I'm not happy about it, but I understand."

"Look, Malc, I can get away early from my meeting. I can come home and be there for the Peel meeting."

Suddenly aware of the driver in the car, Malcolm tried to relax and sound more businesslike.

"No, Sam, don't worry about it. Please. Stay for the PA meeting. It's fine. We'll see you later. Love you. Bye."


	69. Chapter 69

**Author's Note:**

Sorry, but this one's very dark. It's an important breakthrough, though, and soon we're going to start seeing some resolutions. It's Monday afternoon and Malcolm has his meeting with Peel. Thanks for sticking with this.

* * *

When the car rolled up to the curb in front of the house Malcolm noticed a beat up Mini parked across the street. Surely that wasn't Peel's car. Sure enough, when Malcolm exited the vehicle, the Mini's driver-side door opened and a young man who could only be a journalist stepped out and crossed the street.

Malcolm didn't recognise him, but he knew the type. This guy had the air of a hungry independent. Though exhausted from the day, Malcolm steeled himself to meet the press.

"And who might you be?" He said, as the man approached.

"Malcolm, I'm Evan Amesley. I'm an independent journalist, and I was hoping you had a few minutes."

"I haven't seen you around before. Where are you usually published?"

"Oh here and there. I doubt you've read any of my work. I have an online presence for a number of news agencies."

"Can you be more specific?" Amesley cast his eyes aside.

"I've been in _The Mirror's_ online forums. A few small press papers."

Malcolm turned toward the door, wheeling the oxygen cart alongside. "Well, Evan Amesley, I don't have time to talk, and don't appreciate a media presence in front of my home, so please leave."

As Malcolm unlocked the front door he saw another car pull up and park behind Evan's mini.

 _Fuck me. The vultures are circling._

As Malcolm closed and locked the front door he heard a staccato knocking on the patio door in the back of the house. _Goddamn. This fucking_ tears _it._ Pulse racing, he strode firmly through the living room to the kitchen, trundling the oxygen cart beside him at a speed that caused it to wobble and one wheel to come off the floor. When he looked through the gauzy curtains, he was relieved to see the stalwart Detective Chief Inspector. Breathing a gusty sigh, Malcolm unlocked the door and let him in.

"There was a guy staking out your place. Think he was a reporter, so I parked around the corner and came round back."

"You're right about the journalist. I sent him on his way. Thanks for your discretion."

Malcolm turned on the lights, waved Peel to the kitchen table and set about making coffee. He'd need it – he was beyond tired.

With coffee in hand, Malcolm joined Peel at the table. The Detective Chief Inspector had his laptop open and peered at the screen from behind the thickest pair of spectacles Malcolm had ever seen.

"You're wearing glasses." Peel looked over to Malc, his blue eyes comically magnified by the lenses.

"Oh, yes. I had Lasik surgery and was trying out contacts, but it was a failed experiment, I'm afraid. Back in the old specs for now. And I see you have the oxygen back. Are you alright?"

"Had a turn for the worse over the weekend. The oxygen's just temporary, though. Should be fine in a few days." Malcolm stole a glance at the Pulse-oximeter and was pleased to see his saturation was at 95% even though he wasn't currently using the oxygen. Pretty impressive, all things considered.

Malcolm had a sip of his coffee. "So, what's the latest? Sam mentioned that you've connected my father with some disappearances." Malcolm felt a sharp flash of anger again at being kept in the dark and tried not to let it show.

Peel pushed his laptop cover down part-way, giving Malcolm his full attention. "Yes. Wasn't sure she'd mention it. She was worried about you and wanted to give you a weekend without extra stress."

"I'm not too happy about it, but I know Sam meant well."

"Are you sure you're okay? You look a bit pale."

"Long day, but I'm fine. Let's just go ahead."

Peel reopened the laptop. Malcolm watched those magnified eyes scan back and forth briefly as Peel reviewed some notes and then looked back up at Malcolm.

"Before I tell you about the progress we've made, I have some background from Police Strathclyde on your father that you may not be aware of. I'm telling you this to help prepare you to hear about what we've discovered. It's not good."

Malcolm grunted. In a few short sentences, Peel had managed to get his stomach tied up in knots.

"Back in 1967 there were six unresolved child disappearances in Glasgow. Four of those boys were never found, one of which was Colin Clatcher. The remaining two boys were found dead. There was evidence of sexual assault in both cases. Back then we didn't have very sophisticated forensic technology, so there was no way to match DNA found on a victim to that of a suspect. All of these disappearances occurred near your flat and locations where your father did caretaker work."

Malcolm's stomach twisted painfully. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

"The Glasgow police interviewed your father related to the disappearance of one boy, a four-year-old, but there was not sufficient evidence to press charges. At the time there were a number of persons of interest. Your father was not the primary suspect, but he fit the profile.

"Between 1968 and 1973, there were an additional nine disappearances. All were boys between the ages of two and five. One body was recovered, and again, there was evidence of sexual assault.

Malcolm felt a little giddy and forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Go on."

"When your father was arrested in September of 1973 the investigative team rehashed the cold cases and interviewed your father for several of them, including Colin. Again, he looked good, but there wasn't enough evidence to formally charge him on any of them.

"Then in November of 1973 there was another murder of a three-year-old boy in Cadder. Your father was already in Barnlinnie, so that one couldn't have been him. The modus operandi was similar but not identical to that of the other children, but it was close enough that the focus of the investigation shifted away from your father."

"What have they found that put him back in the running, then?"

Peel consulted his laptop again.

"MacFarland gave me an update on Friday. An inventory of the assets seized during the investigation into your brother's death included a suitcase full of children's clothing. At the time of the original investigation, nothing was thought of it. Since your parents had three children, it wasn't surprising to find children's clothing packed away in an outbuilding. There was also no identification on the suitcase, so it could have belonged to any family in your building.

Malcolm's mouth went dry. He tried to will his hand to pick up his coffee, but it remained frozen on the table.

"The forensics folks in Glasgow examined the contents closely and found bloodstains on a number of garments, along with other stains, including semen. One such garment matched the jumper Colin Clatcher was wearing the day he disappeared."

"The—what?" Malcolm felt all the blood leave his head. The room spun. A high-pitched tone droned in his ears. He suddenly felt as if he were viewing the room from the corner of the ceiling. From about ten thousand kilometers away he heard Peel asking if he was all right. He heard a more familiar sustained beep of the oxygen saturation monitor and some commotion at the front door.

* * *

Sam bowed out of her admin meeting an hour early and headed home. Even if she'd stayed, it wouldn't have made a difference, as she couldn't get her mind off of Malcolm. Ever since he left for his appointment with Doctor Jacobs, Sam had an increasingly compelling feeling that she should be with him for his appointments, especially the one with Peel. Their brief exchange after the Jacobs appointment just added to the imperative to go home and be with Malc.

All weekend long she felt guilty about not telling Malcolm what Peel had shared with her. But he was still so fragile, and with the return of the breathing difficulties, Sam couldn't see how any good could come of him knowing about it before Monday. She'd just wanted to protect him, give him few days to heal up and get rested and ready for his return to Number Ten.

But by Monday morning, she knew she'd gone over-board. She knew Malcolm was angry about it, and rightly so. She only hoped he could understand why she did it and see his way clear to forgiving her.

When Sam drove down their street she saw a number of cars she didn't recognise parked on either side of the street near their house. Several journalists were gathered near the cars. When she pulled into the driveway, they all headed in her direction.

Sam sighed and put on her best bollocking face before getting out of the car.

"Mrs. Tucker, what's your reaction to the article in _The Examiner_? Did you know your husband was the son of a murderer?"

"Has Malcolm ever hit you?"

"Why is Malcolm on oxygen? What's his prognosis?"

She was deaf to their questions, with the single focus of getting inside and making sure Malcolm was all right. She physically pushed one obstinate female reporter out of her way as she made it to the front door.

* * *

"Breathe, Malcolm!" That was Sam's voice. He felt the cannula as Sam placed it under his nose. He breathed deeply. His stomach debated tossing up its contents, but finally settled.

He realised his eyes were closed and opened them. Sam was there, kneeling next to his chair, looking very concerned. She must have come home early from her meeting. Peel was out of his chair, radio in hand, finger poised over the send button, obviously trying to decide if the situation warranted an ambulance.

 _How fucking humiliating._

Malcolm cleared his throat. "M'okay," he managed, while sitting up and trying to look a little less like a man who'd nearly crawled out of his skin. Sam got up from the floor and pulled a chair close to Malcolm's. The Detective Chief Inspector pressed a glass of water into his hand. He took it gratefully and had a sip. Sam steadied his hand when it shook and took the glass and set it on the table when he was done.

"My apologies. I should have realised it would be a shock to hear something like that." Peel looked authentically remorseful.

"No, it's okay. It's just…hard to take in." Malcolm breathed through the cannula. "I've wondered for years if there were others. The only one I knew about was Colin. After him I used to watch the shed from my bedroom window when my father was out there. I wanted to see if he ever brought any other kids out there." He still felt shaky. His teeth wanted to chatter, so he clenched his jaw.

"I think we should stop for today." Peel's expression was concerned, though Malcolm sensed that there was some urgency around getting him up to speed.

"No, I'd like to get through this, so let's press on." Sam rubbed his arm.

"Are you sure, Malc?" He covered her hand with his and made a conscious effort to look convincingly okay.

"Yes. Surely that's the worst of it, right, Peel?"

The Detective Chief Inspector reclaimed his seat and consulted his laptop.

"Yes, that's really the worst of it. Fiona Clatcher confirmed that the jumper was Colin's. The forensic team ran it through the lab and confirmed the bloodstain was his. What they need now is a way to check to see if the other DNA on the garment is from your father."

"You need a DNA sample."

"That's right."

"Well, I'm sorry to say I dinna have any of my father's DNA lying around. Surely if there's anything like that, it would be with Police Strathclyde?"

"They have your father's fingerprints on file, but that's it. Even if they don't have a sample of your father's DNA, they can do a polymerase chain reaction test, or PCR test. To do that, we'd take a sample from you and another from your sister for comparison. I know your mother passed away a few years back. Any chance you or your sister would have anything of hers that might have some of her DNA? It would help to isolate your father's DNA."

"You can check with Julia, but I don't have anything like that."

"MacFarland or Douglas will likely contact your sister tomorrow. Even if we don't have your mother's DNA, the forensics folks can do the PCR and see if there is a match with the semen on the jumper." Malcolm felt another twinge in his stomach at the mention of semen. Sam gripped his arm.

"So, is that it? Anything else we should know at this point?"

Peel consulted his notes.

"One thing we still want to nail down is the method your father used to subdue children. The team has a theory about that, and I have some questions for you that might help test it out."

"Go ahead." Peel hesitated. Malcolm noted that his eyes involuntarily bounced over to Sam for a moment before he made eye contact with Malcolm.

"This is something we can do another day, if you'd like. I know it's been a stressful day." Malcolm clenched his jaw.

" _Go ahead_."

"Very well. I would like you to think back to the incident you told us about where you ended up restrained in the shed with the open vat of chlorine. When we first met you told me…" Peel read directly from his notes. "…You were helping your father fix the car when he suddenly pushed you down and started kicking you. You woke up in the shed."

"That's right."

Peel made eye contact with Malcolm. "This might be difficult, but I'd like you to focus on the point where your father attacked you."

"Not much to tell. He knocked me over and started kicking me. That's all I remember until I woke up in the shed."

"I think I can help you remember more about it if you close your eyes. This is a technique called cognitive interview that MacFarland mentioned previously. It will only take a few minutes, and might get us the answers we need."

Malcolm considered saying no. He was very tired, and still bowled over by the likely confirmation that his father was a paedophile and possibly a serial killer. He sensed additional pressure from Sam's hand entwined with his under the table and knew she didn't think he should do it.

"Okay," He finally said, closing his eyes.

"Go ahead and take a few deep breaths and think back to that day. It was a morning in July. You were fixing the car with your Da. What do you remember about it?"

Malcolm breathed as instructed, casting his mind back to that day.

"It was warm in the garage. A little humid."

"Great. What else?"

"The radio was playing. A football match was on. He always listened to the match coverage, no matter who was playing."

"What did you smell?"

"Oil. Gasoline. There was a hot electrical smell. He'd been trying to jump the battery off a generator earlier. He had jumper cables. I remember the sparking noise they made."

"Tell me what happened when your father attacked you. What were you doing?"

* * *

" _No, you fucking twat – not the adjustable spanner, the Christing socket spanner! It's a ratchet! Now fuck off over there and bring me the socket spanner, Goddamn it."_

 _Malcolm turned away from where his father was leaning into the engine compartment, grasping the unwanted spanner loosely, his gut twisting with anxiety. He had no idea what a socket spanner looked like, or what a ratchet was. Da just said 'spanner,' and Malc had brought the thing he thought looked like a spanner._

 _Back at the tool chest, he dropped the adjustable spanner back in and squatted down to rifle through the haphazard contents. The chest was cram-packed with tools Malcolm did not know the names of. Which one might be the socket spanner?_

 _And suddenly he was knocked on his side. He back went numb where Da kicked him with one work boot. Malc sucked in a surprised breath, but it was ripped from him by a sharp kick to the ribs._

" _You little wanker. You're no good, you know? Fucking. Bent. Wanker." Each statement was punctuated by another kick. Malcolm tasted blood. He'd bit his tongue. He squinched his eyes shut in pain, struggling not to cry out._

 _A cloth was pressed to his face. It smelled like one of Da's shop rags – musty and oily, but it was wet and there was a sweet smell, too. Malcolm opened his eyes and saw his father was straddling him, pressing the red rag over his nose and mouth. His heart pounded in his ears. Pulses of red flashed across his vision. He tried not to breathe in, but eventually his body betrayed him and he gasped for air._

 _That sweet smell lingered on his tongue and in his nose as the world faded._


	70. Chapter 70

Sam watched as Peel swabbed the inside of Malcolm's cheek and stored the swab in a plastic phial. He'd been kind enough to call a patrol car to drive by the house and get the journalists to move on. The Detective Chief Inspector seemed to have a heightened sense of security since the Steve Fleming incident.

Malcolm was very quiet after sharing the memory of how his father attacked him that morning back in 1967. She continued to clasp his hand under the table, hoping to provide an anchor in all the upheaval. She only hoped Peel would wrap things up quickly and leave so that Malc could get some rest.

"That confirms our hypothesis about how your father subdued the children."

"So, was it chloroform?" Sam asked. Peel smiled briefly at that.

"Not quite. Chloroform has been somewhat misrepresented in movies and television. It would actually take quite a lot of chloroform to render someone unconscious, even a small child.

"The original inventory of the contents of the shed back in the seventies included several bottles of chloroethane. It was used as a refrigerant back in the day. It's also used as an intoxicant by homosexual men. An adult gets a strong feeling of euphoria from breathing in the substance, and it could easily cause a child to lose consciousness. Alistair might have had it on hand for his caretaker business, but from the packaging it looked more like something he ordered from an advert in a porn magazine.

"Unfortunately, chloroethane breaks down rapidly, so we won't be able to recover traces from the articles of clothing we have or any of the forensic workups on the remains of the victims. Still, your memory fills in an important hole in the case. We can prove Alistair had the means to subdue small children, and had actually done it in at least one case."

Malcolm cleared his throat. He was still on the oxygen cannula. Sam noted that his saturation was good, around 95%. "What's next?"

"I will get this sample to the lab. Police Strathclyde will contact your sister and arrange for the Edinburgh office to get her DNA sample. Once we hear back, one way or the other, I will let you know.

"Douglas will need to give a statement about the outcome fairly quickly. He will also contact the families of the victims in the open cases to have them look at the clothing from the suitcase and try to make identifications. They've held off on that until you were informed.

"At this late date, I'm not expecting too much from that part of the investigation, as it's likely that the parents of the missing children will have passed away. They do have descriptions of clothing from the original missing person reports, but a personal identification by a family member builds a better case.

"Once the families are involved, Douglas will have to be proactive about communications, as they will likely talk about it and may even get the press involved. Again, I will keep you abreast of events and alert you to any upcoming communications."

"Right." Malcolm stared at the table surface. Sam's heart broke for him. When it was clear he had nothing else to say, Sam walked Peel to the door.

"Thanks for the update. It's not what we were hoping for, but I'm glad you're making progress and getting some answers."

"We'll keep you posted." At the door, Peel turned to her, speaking quietly. "I know this is hard on him, and I'm sorry for the trouble this has caused. We'll do our best to keep a low profile on things. And I hope Malcolm is on the mend." Poor man. He was just doing his job, and Sam could see his concern for Malcolm. She gave his arm a comforting squeeze.

"Thanks, Peel."

Malcolm hadn't moved from his place at the kitchen table when Sam returned. He stared at the surface of the table, seemingly deep in thought. Sam came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders.

"How are you doing, Luv?" She got a grunt in reply. _Not good, then._ She reclaimed her seat and then clasped his hand.

"I know it's a lot to take in. I can't imagine what you're going through. Please talk to me, Malc. I want to help." An emotion flashed across his face momentarily and then was gone.

"I don't want to talk about it." Even the tone of his words didn't give anything away.

"Well, you look tired, and it's been a long day. Do you want to have a lie-down while I fix dinner?"

Finally he made eye contact, but even that was brief.

"Yes, maybe I will." She kissed his cheek before he rose from the table. He still seemed to barely be in the room.

He made his way to the guest room, trundling the oxygen along side. He shut the door behind him.

An hour later, when she went to rouse him for dinner, she found the guest room empty and a note on the dresser.

 _Sam, I've got to get away for a bit and process things. I love you very much._

 _\- Malc_


	71. Chapter 71

**Author's Notes**

This is a short chapter, with a longer one in the works. Thanks so much for sticking with this story and please know I welcome your feedback.

* * *

Jamie answered the incoming call from Sam and felt his heart flip over when his "Hi Sam" was met with a sharp intake of breath and the sound of crying. _Holy fuck – what now?_

"Sam? What's the matter?"

It took a few moments for her to recover herself enough to answer.

"Sorry, Jamie, but I didn't know who else to call. Maybe it's nothing, but Malcolm took off and I'm scared." More tears.

Bev looked over at him with concern. They were doing the dishes together when the call came in. He shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention to Sam.

"What do you mean Malcolm took off? What happened?"

"Peel gave him an update on the investigation in Glasgow. It was a lot to take in. He went to have a lie-down afterwards, but when I came to check on him, he was gone. He left a note."

"What did it say?"

"Just that he needed to get away and process things. But Jamie, I'd gotten an update from Peel on Friday and didn't tell Malcolm. I wanted him to have the weekend to rest up and get on an even keel."

"And he found out?"

Sam sniffed. "I told him right before he met with Peel. It was wrong to hold it back. I know he's mad at me."

Jamie was careful in his response. Given the state of his own marriage, he had little confidence in his ability to come up with the right thing. "Maybe he just needs some alone time."

"But he was so, I don't know, shut down after he found out about his father. I think he was in shock."

"What did they find out about his father?" Jamie wandered into the living room, where Morgan sat at the coffee table, doing his homework. He was already in his pyjamas and slippers. Morgan looked up at him and smiled. Jamie reached down and ruffled his hair.

"Well, it looks like he may be responsible for the disappearance of several boys back in the late sixties and early seventies. A few of them were found dead later. They found some clothes that might belong to the missing children in that awful shed. Colin Clatcher's mother already identified something of his.

"When I talked to Peel on Friday they had only connected him to six boys. But today, he told Malcolm it might be as many as fifteen."

Not good news.

"And what's worse is they found blood and what they think is semen on some of the clothes. They took a DNA sample from Malcolm to make a match."

 _Really_ not good news.

"Sam, where do you think he'd go?"

"I dunno. The office? An hotel? That's all I can think of. I've called his mobile and also his office line, but he's not picking up. He might try to contact you." Another teary sigh. "I don't think he trusts me right now. But he might talk to you. If he calls or texts, could you try to find out where he is and how he's doing?"

"Of course I will, Sam. I'm going to put the kids to bed in a bit, and then I will run up to the office just in case he's there."

"Thanks Jamie. You're a good friend."

"He's probably fine, Sam." Jamie said that for himself just as much as for Sam.

They said their goodbyes and rang off, and Jamie went back into the kitchen to fill Beverly in.


	72. Chapter 72

**Author's Notes**

This chapter takes us to Tuesday afternoon. The next chapter is in the works with an ETA of this weekend. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

 **Voice Messages:** 3

 **NICOLA MURRAY:**

"Malcolm, where are you? We had a nine o'clock. At least that's what my calendar shows. Call me."

 **ED ATKINS:**

"Malcolm, Ed here. Just checking on that approval on the PA announcement about Dan's China visit. As a reminder, you were the one that called for it. If I don't hear from you before noon today I will assume you are okay with it and give it a quick run past Jamie before I send it out. Thanks much."

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

"Malcolm, long time no talk! George here, from the Beeb. Listen, you probably know why I'm calling. There's been some swirl about the Sunday write-up about you in _The Guardian_ and then those pieces in the tabloids. We're getting call-in questions and things in the online forums from people who want to know what's going on with you. I'd like to work you in to one of our broadcasts this week. This could be a chance to get your message out there and nip things in the bud, so to speak, if that's what you're wanting to do. We should have a coffee and talk it over. Let me know when you're free. And I hope you are on the mend. Thanks, Malcolm. Please say hi to Sam."

 **Text Messages:** 4

 **SAMANTHA:** I got your note. Please call or at least text and let me know you're okay. I love you, Malc.

 **JAMIE:** Sam called me freaking out. Got me worried, too. LMK where you are.

 **JAMIE:** I'm serious. Just tried to call and it went straight to voicemail. WTF r u?

 **JULIUS:** You okay old man? Sam just canceled our lunch.

 **Unread Emails:** 1

 **TO:** Malcolm Tucker

 **FROM:** Barnaby Schultz, Esq.

 **Attachments:** 1

Malcolm,

Please see the attached revised last will and testament per our conversation. The changes are highlighted for your review. If you're good with everything, you can come by the office to sign the official copy any time this week.

Regards,

Barnie.

* * *

Jamie wrapped up the 8am Communications meeting in Malcolm's office. The old bastard hadn't shown up. Jamie touched base with Sam briefly before the meeting. Her red eyes and the dark shadows under them confirmed that she hadn't heard from Malcolm, either.

Jamie checked his schedule and cleared the few meetings he had in the afternoon. He had one unmovable non-work thing at 10:00 that would run until 13:00 or so, if all went well. After that, if they hadn't heard from Malcolm yet, Jamie planned to start canvassing the hotels and hospitals.

He'd taken Bev's car after putting the kids to bed and driven to the office Monday night, hoping to find Malcolm there. The office was dark, though, and Jamie saw no evidence that Malcolm had been there since he'd left shortly after lunch on Monday.

He'd also tried calling and texting Malcolm's Blackberry. The call went straight to voicemail, which probably meant the missing enforcer had turned his device off. In a moment of inspiration, Jamie called the car service, confident that if Malcolm went anywhere, it would be in a car from the service.

He spoke with the dispatcher, who called him back later and confirmed that a car had picked Malcolm up from his home on Monday, but the driver refused to divulge the destination. The driver told the dispatcher that Malcolm had threatened to 'rip off your bollocks and throw them in the fucking Thames' if he told anyone where he'd dropped him off. Knowing Malcolm, Jamie suspected a generous gratuity might have also changed hands. He decided to leave it alone for now, but planned to call back and press harder if Malcolm didn't resurface soon.

* * *

Sam finished clearing Malcolm's diary for the day. Thankfully, it was a light day, as he'd only planned to be in the office in the morning. She felt the heaviness of sleep deprivation and the twist of anxiety in her stomach. She hadn't heard a thing from him. It was driving her crazy.

With Malcolm gone it was also a light day for her, so if she didn't hear from him she would leave the office as planned at noon. As it was, she had little to keep her occupied until then.

She debated calling Peel, or perhaps 999, but knew they would tell her it was too soon for a missing persons search. She resolved to wait until 15:00, which would be pretty close to the twenty-four hour mark. If she still hadn't heard anything she would call Peel anyway.

She also didn't want Malcolm's disappearance to add to the press attention. There were more journalists and cameramen in front of Number Ten this morning and also a string of voicemails on the office line from both reputable and less reputable news syndicates. Thankfully, Sam had seen a patrol car drive past their house several times last night, and there were no press waiting for her when she left this morning.

Making a decision, Sam called Julia to give a heads up that the local police would be in touch, but Julia had already gotten a short text from Malcolm the night before telling her to expect a call from the police for a DNA sample and to go ahead and do it. She left a voice message for him, but hadn't heard back.

Sam opted not to fill Julia in on the details of the case. Sam felt she had done enough damage lately by stepping in where it wasn't her business. She considered and decided against telling Julia that Malcolm was missing. Julia was a single mum, and Sam didn't want to get her overly worried about Malcolm when he might walk in any minute – bad enough that Sam had to be in that position.

At 10:00 she broke down and made one more call. This one was to doctor Jacobs. His receptionist took a message and the doctor called her back within fifteen minutes.

"Sam, how are you doing? What can I do for you?" He sounded cordial, but also somewhat concerned. By now he'd probably learned enough about Malcolm's situation to know that things were very delicate and that Sam wouldn't call without reason.

"Doctor Jacobs, thanks for returning my call." She took a deep breath, trying to decide how to get started. Finally, she just dove right in.

"I wanted to let you know that Malcolm has disappeared. He left a note last night saying he needed to get away to process things. I have no idea where he is." Sam felt her eyes well up and willed herself not to cry yet again.

There was a pause before Jacobs answered. Sam imagined him reaching for Malcolm's file or a pen and notepad.

"I see. When did you notice he was gone?"

'He left some time between 17:00 and 18:00."

"How did he seem before then? Was he upset?"

"He was – not good. He had an update on the investigation in Glasgow and got some bad news. He just seemed really shut down, like he didn't want to deal with it. On top of that, he was also very tired, so I asked him if he fancied a rest and he said he would. But when I went to rouse him for dinner, he was gone and the note was there. Doctor, how worried should I be?"

"Has he contacted anyone that you're aware of?"

"No. Wait, yes. He texted his sister last night. Didn't mention anything to her about having left the house or where he was."

"What was missing? Did you notice what he might have taken with him?"

"Yes, he took all of his prescriptions, the oxygen and nebuliser. He also took a traveling case and his razor."

"That's a good thing, Sam. If he were planning to do himself harm, he likely wouldn't have bothered. I'm not saying don't be worried, but it's possible he might have just needed some space."

"Does anything he's shared with you lead you to believe he's depressed or suicidal? Did he call you last night or this morning?"

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I can't answer those questions. Anything Malcolm shares with me is privileged. I know you're really worried about him, but I would recommend not going out searching for him until he's been gone for 48 hours with no contact. The Met will tell you the same."

Jacobs sounded compassionate, and Sam didn't get the sense he was rebuking her for trying to get information; he was just sticking to his professional boundary. She decided to trust him a little more.

"Doctor Jacobs, I knew a little of what the investigator was going to tell Malcolm. He called on Friday and I told him Malcolm couldn't hear about it until Monday. Then, I filled Malcolm in right before he went into the meeting. I think he was really mad at me for holding it back. In retrospect, I know what I did was wrong even though I only wanted to help him."

There was another pause. This time, Sam imagined him gazing at the painting across from his desk, thinking.

"All the more reason to give him a little time. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful. When you hear from him, please tell him we had this conversation and ask him to call me." Sam's shoulders loosened when he said " _when_ you hear from him." Whether that was significant or not, that was ever so much better than " _if_ you hear from him."

"Thank you, Doctor, I will." Sam ended the call and looked at her watch. Only 10:50. Shit.

* * *

At around noon, Jamie knocked on the fucker's front door. Old Bertie stood beside him, turned out in his best suit and smiling like a daft old fool. After a solid minute of hard pounding, Jamie heard movement behind the door and could tell from the change of light through the peephole that they had someone's attention. He held the front of the meeting schedule up to the peephole so Fleming couldn't see him and also knew what they were there about. He heard the chain drawn back and soon the door opened.

Steve Fleming was in track pants, an under-sized ratty t-shirt and threadbare slippers. He squinted at Jamie with jaundiced eyes, recognising him, but perhaps he was too ill or dejected to react.

"Right, mate, it's the fucking AA welcome wagon. Heard you were out of the spin-dry and might want to check out a meeting." Bertie rolled his eyes. Jamie was sure Bertie would have handled things a bit differently.

" _You_."

Jamie pushed his way inside. Fleming didn't protest. Poor fucker was probably in shock.

"That's right, it's me. I took the pledge a few years back, and now I have to work with the likes of you as my way of passing it on."

"I'm Bertie." Fleming nodded at Bertie, obviously unsure what to make of the whole situation or how to act. They stood in the darkened foyer of a house much too large for one man. Finally, Fleming seemed to make a decision and led them into a front room.

The conversation went surprisingly well, Jamie thought. Fleming didn't say much. His expression darkened when Jamie choked out his amends for the way he treated him in the alleyway next to Nutter HQ, but Jamie had the sense the ex-enforcer might not remember much about that day.

After that, Bertie swung into his routine spiel with new recruits, asking qualifying questions, which Fleming answered affirmatively. Yes, he had a problem. Yes, his life was unmanageable. Yes, he'd tried to quit drinking on his own and couldn't. Yes, he wanted help. It all culminated in them piling into Bertie's embarrassingly decrepit car and then pushing into a crowded local noon meeting.

They dropped Fleming back home after the meeting with a list of phone numbers from men at the meeting and a stern reminder to call at least one of those numbers that night and ask for a ride to Wednesday's meeting. Bertie deposited Jamie back at Number Ten at a little after 13:00. The whole production took about three hours out of Jamie's day, but it was worth it. He felt clean inside. The anger was gone, and it forced him to focus on something other than his worry for Malcolm.

When he went to unmute his Blackberry he saw he'd had a text from Malcolm at 10:30 in the morning.

 **MALCOLM:** Come see me at The Royal Trafalgar. Room 313.


	73. Chapter 73

**Author's Notes**

As promised, here is the next installment. It's still Tuesday in Reshuffle land. Thanks for sticking with this story!

* * *

For the second time that day, Jamie found his knuckles hurting from extended pounding on a door. This time it was the door to number 313 at the Royal Trafalgar hotel. Just when he was about to give up and return to the reception desk to ask for someone to accompany him and open the room, the door swung open.

Malcolm peered at him accusingly through bloodshot eyes, seemingly not sure what to make of him. He smelled strongly of scotch. _Great_ , Jamie thought, _two wet ones in one day_.

"What are you doing here?"

"You texted me. Told me to come." The enforcer's eyebrows drew together in a doubtful scowl.

"I didn't."

"Malcolm, you did. I can show you the text."

The old bastard turned around and headed back into the suite, either expecting Jamie to follow or hoping he'd go away.

The suite had a sunken living room with a mini bar, and that was apparently where Malcolm had stationed himself for quite some time, judging from the disarray in its proximity. His laptop and Blackberry were in evidence on the coffee table, along with several pill bottles, the nebuliser and a box of nebuliser solution. There were several empty glasses and crumpled cocktail napkins that looked like they'd been used to clean up a spill.

Malcolm returned to his spot on the sofa, sinking down into it with a distracted sigh. The oxygen was there on its cart beside the sofa, and that's when Jamie noticed Malcolm wasn't wearing the Pulse Oximeter.

"Have you been here this whole time?"

"Huh? Yeah, I suppose so. Checked in earlier in the evening." Jamie surmised that Malcolm still thought it was Monday.

"Well, Sam was very worried when you didn't come into the office today. So was I."

Malcolm passed a hand over his eyes. He looked exhausted. "What day is it?"

"It's Tuesday, Malcolm. You left Sam a note in the early evening yesterday and disappeared."

" _Tuesday._ That can't be."

Jamie leaned forward to get a better look at the enforcer. He was more disheveled than Jamie had ever seen him. He had a heavy five o'clock shadow. His clothes were what he wore into the office Monday, and they were significantly rumpled. His tie was undone, and the top few buttons of his shirt were open. Malcolm's pupils were huge. Time to pop the question.

"Malcolm, have you been drinking?"

"No, I don't drink." Jamie looked over to the mini bar, where several empty single-serving sized bottles lay strewn across the cherry wood finish.

"Well, just one. I thought I'd try it. See what all the fuss was about." Jamie stood and walked over to the bar. In addition to the four little bottles on top of the bar, there were four more empties in the bin.

"Try eight. You haven't been taking your medications along with that, have you?" He got another blank look.

"You don't know, do you? Do you remember anything at all about the last twenty four hours or so?" Malcolm ran a hand through his hair, obviously perplexed.

From there, Jamie went about the unpleasant task of sobering up his boss. First, he got Malcolm to check his oxygen levels, which were surprisingly good. Jamie also found an empty phial of nebuliser solution among the detritus on the table, hopefully meaning that Malcolm had given himself at least one breathing treatment since he'd checked in. Jamie was no doctor, but he thought Malcolm's breathing sounded better than on Monday morning.

There was no evidence that he'd taken any food, and Jamie knew that with the biopsy on Friday, Malcolm could not afford to miss meals. He chivvied the befuddled enforcer into the shower and hung Malcolm's suit bag on the hook in the bathroom. While Malcolm showered and dressed, Jamie fired off a quick text to Sam that said "Found him. He's a bit drunk, but otherwise okay, I think. Taking him to tea."

After a shower and shave, Malcolm looked a lot more "with it" and Jamie deemed him presentable for a late meal in the hotel restaurant.

It took a little priming to get Malcolm to order anything substantial from the menu. He looked tired and perhaps hung over, which never did much for the appetite. Finally, black coffee in hand and food under production in the kitchen, Jamie made his opening gambit in what was likely a tricky conversation.

"So. Sam told me you had news about the investigation in Glasgow." Malcolm grunted. Jamie thought he caught a flash of anger, but it was quickly hidden.

"Malcolm, she's scared shitless. Of course she called me. You took off and left a fucking note after getting some bad news. Is she supposed to just sit home and hope you're okay?"

"What did she tell you?"

"She said they found evidence that connected your Da to several child disappearances, and there was also evidence of sexual abuse." Malcolm sat up sharply at that, scanning the room. The dining room was only sparsely populated, and Jamie was sure they weren't in earshot of any of the other guests.

Malcolm gave a tight, mirthless smile. He did not make eye contact. "Well, there you have it, then."

"Malcolm, I _don't_ have it. That's not what I care about. I'm not here to confirm the facts or get more details from you. I'm here because I'm your friend and I'm worried about you. Now, are you going to fucking talk to me, or what?"

Just then their starters arrived. Jamie sat back and tried to relax as the server presented their soup and then left. Malcolm didn't make eye contact, stirring his soup dejectedly. Jamie counted to ten slowly.

"She knew about the missing boys. She talked to Peel on Friday and she didna tell me about it."

"Sounds like she was trying to protect you."

"Well, I'm not a sodding child. This is my _life_. I wilna be fucking patronised."

"You felt out of the loop."

"Fuck right, I did."

"So how long are you going to punish her for that?" That got him a cross look.

"I'm not punishing her."

"So what is this? Running off to a posh hotel to what? Off yourself?" Thin colour rose in Malcolm's cheeks. He cast his eyes aside.

"I'm not trying to 'off myself.' Just needed some space."

"To process things."

"That's right. Is it a crime?" Jamie sighed. This was such a role reversal.

"Of course not, Malc. But why would you leave the people who care about you at a time like this? Seems kind of illogical. Wouldn't it make more sense to talk about what's going on and how you're feeling about it? I mean, this isna really about Sam at all, is it?"

"Don't you start with the 'feelings' talk, too. Christ. 'What's _under_ your anger, Malcolm?' Fuck. I have to pay for that, and now I'm also getting it for free. Will you fucking knock it off?" Malcolm looked like he was going to get up and leave.

"Fair enough. I won't bring up feelings again if you answer this one question to my satisfaction."

"What question, then." Malcolm looked almost pouty. Jamie reminded himself that Malc was a teetotaler under the residual effects of his first experience with hard liquor.

"Why are you here?"

"I already told you. To process things."

"What things?"

"That's another fucking question."

"It's a follow up, because you didna answer my first question fully. What things are you processing, Malc?"

The enforcer sighed, eyeing his cooling soup. He looked beaten. Jamie waited.

"My father was a paedophile. He captured young boys and did things to them, and then killed them."

 _Tread carefully, Jamie._ "That's terrible, Malcolm. I'm sorry to hear that." Malcolm didn't make eye contact. Jamie thought he saw the glimmer of unshed tears and felt a lump form in his own throat.

"And it's likely that I was his first victim. Only for some reason, he _didna_ kill _me_." The acidity in Malcolm's tone was a knife through Jamie's heart.

"And a good thing, too. If he had, UK government would be a cunting mess." Malcolm huffed a cynical laugh and swiped discretely at one eye.

"No, really. I'm not shitting you. Think about it. The Conservatives would be in power and we'd all be caught up in arse-spraying mayhem." Malcolm looked down at his soup and smiled a little, fiddling with the spoon.

"And I'd likely be unemployed and divorced for sure. Oh, and Fleming would be Communications Director for Labour. You wouldna want that, would you?" Malcolm had a tentative sip of his soup. Jamie felt something loosen inside and picked up his own spoon.

"Might be sort of funny to see what came of it, though." _Thank God._

"Julius would probably turn to self-harm." _And Morgan would never know his hero. And Ollie would still be a hot mess. And Nicola wouldn't have someone pulling for her. And the PM wouldn't have someone to balance him out. And Sam wouldn't have a soul mate. And I wouldn't have a compass. But I can't say any of that, because you won't take it in, but I hope somehow you know it, anyway._

The entree arrived and conversation turned away from such sensitive subjects. By the end of the meal, Jamie felt Malcolm was back in reality and on a more even keel, though very obviously tired and in need of solid sleep.

Although he seemed much more himself, Malcolm maintained that he wasn't ready to return home yet. Jamie walked the old bastard back to his room and obtained a promise that he would get some rest and at the very least text Sam to let her know he was okay. It might have been a little heavy-handed, but Jamie did insist on using the bin to gather up the remaining liquor. He deposited the full bin in front of another suite near the elevator on his way out.


	74. Chapter 74

**Author's Notes**

Here is another short chapter that takes us through Tuesday evening. Wow, it's hell in the hallway.

* * *

"How is he?"

"Sam, he's fine. Well, he's okay."

"You said he was _drunk_?"

"Not too bad. But he's not a drinker, so it effected him strongly."

"You're not convincing me that he's okay, Jamie."

"Look, Sam. He was in a hotel. He wasn't out in a pub, or drinks driving."

"How is his breathing? Did he do his treatment?"

"He sounded good. Definitely less congested than he was on Monday. And he did do at least one breathing treatment."

"Did he talk to you?"

"A little. Look, he's going to call or text you tonight, and he said he plans on being in the office tomorrow morning."

"So he's not coming home tonight." _Oh, Sam. I'm so sorry._

"No, at least he didn't think so. I don't think he'd slept at all since he left. Between that and the alcohol, he was ready to crash and burn when I left him. Let him sleep it off and see how it goes in the morning." Another frustrated sigh from Sam.

"You're really not going to tell me anything else, are you?"

"No. I'm sorry, Sam. I just can't. He'll be in touch tonight. I promise." _Don't make me a liar, Malcolm._

* * *

 **MALCOLM:** I miss you, Sam. I will be back at home and in the office tomorrow. Please forgive me for taking this time away. I love you.

* * *

Malcolm hung his suit coat, trousers and shirt in the hotel closet. Dressed only in an undershirt and his boxers, he made his way over to the bed.

Tomorrow would be another day. But first, there was tonight in the hotel.

After Jamie left, Malcolm had checked his outgoing email, calls and texts, trying to piece together the last twenty-four hours. He still couldn't believe it was Tuesday afternoon. He felt exhausted and still somewhat foggy. A sharp headache didn't make it any easier. The after-effects of his drinking experiment confirmed his hypothesis that alcohol was not for him.

He remembered checking into the hotel and asking for room 313, which happened to be available. He remembered arriving at the room and using his laptop to check email. He remembered sitting there, looking dejectedly around the room, thinking of the last time he was there. He remembered texting Julia and then shutting off his Blackberry.

There were a lot of strong feelings, he knew that. He was angry at Sam, and hurt that she felt she needed to manage him in such a way. Then he also had a complex ball of shite he couldn't begin to decipher about what Peel had divulged about his father. Every time he tried to think about it, his mind automatically shut it down and he found himself staring at the vaguely generic art on the wall of the hotel room, feeling numb. But tears kept coursing down his face. His skin burned from them.

He had noticed the fully stocked mini bar when he arrived, contemplating Andy Roth and how he chose to exit the world. Thinking about it clinically, he had the motive, means and opportunity to do the same.

 _Not me_ , Malcolm thought. _I wouldna be so selfish._ But then he decided to try one drink to see what it felt like. Surely it would take enough of the edge off of that flaming ball of shite that he could perhaps untangle it and make it go away.

That was really why he fled from the house in the first place. At least he'd thought so.

The last thing he remembered was breaking the seal on the miniature plastic bottle of Talisker and pouring it into one of the short tumblers. Next thing he knew some asshole was pounding on the door and wouldn't stop. He finally managed to get himself upright and dragged his carcass over to the door to see who the fuck would do such a thing. Enter Jamie. The dumb fuck.

Now that he was sober again, he was ready to conduct a second experiment. This one felt more like a séance. He'd come to the Royal Trafalgar and sought out the room Andy used when Malcolm last saw him in hopes that he would feel closer to his old, dead mentor. If the anti-anxiety meds really had caused the trippy dreams in which he'd met with Roth, then perhaps under the right circumstances, he could induce one and control the experience.

He drew a pill from the bottle containing the original medication and swallowed it with water. Then he went about setting up the nebuliser and medication. He'd just started the treatment when it occurred to him that things could still go awry. If that happened, he needed to make sure Sam knew this was not a suicide.

He removed the mask, turned off the nebuliser, and stood and padded over to the desk near the bedside. Sure enough, there was a hotel pen and a few sheets of stationery. Malcolm used them to write a brief note, just in case.

Malcolm returned to the bed, replaced the mask, and relaxed back into the pillows. The folded note was on the nightstand. As the steroid did its work on his bolloxed lungs, Malcolm felt himself starting to drift.

 _Come on Andy, don't stand me up._


	75. Chapter 75

**Author's Notes**

Seventy-five chapters – wow, that's surreal! When I started this project I thought for sure it would be ten chapters or less. Little did I know that the story would take on a life of its own. For those who are still reading, thanks for sticking with it. Please review if you have a moment – much appreciated!

* * *

Malcolm awoke and rose from the bed. He made his way out into the living area of the suite. Andy was there, fixing a drink at the mini bar. When he saw Malcolm he raised his glass. "What's your poison? Let me pour you one."

Malcolm's stomach trembled. He shuddered and said "Fuck, no."

Suddenly remembering that he'd gone to sleep in his boxers, he looked down and was relieved to find himself fully clothed. _That's good_ , Malcolm thought. _Meeting with Andy in my underpants would be too strange._

The two men sat on the l-shaped sofa. Andy had a sip of his drink and made a sound of relish as he set it down. Once again, this was a younger, sharper Andrew Roth, not the beat up, drunken shell of a man Malcolm last saw in suite 313 of the Royal Trafalgar.

Andy looked around the suite and then at Malcolm. "Isn't this nice, Malcolm?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Well, it's not cheap, so I suggest you enjoy it. Now, down to business. You called me here. What's going on?"

Malcolm took a deep breath and considered how best to proceed.

"Andy, I need your help. I'm in a bind and I donna know what to do."

"The murder thing with your father."

"Yes, that's it. Turns out, it's much worse than I thought. Police Strathclyde says he may have taken as many as fifteen boys. Several of them turned up dead. And it looks like he molested them. Peel asked for a DNA sample and I gave it. When it comes back we'll know, one way or the other."

"You think he did it."

"I know he killed Colin. And I think he killed them all. When it goes public there's going to be blow-back for me and the PM." Malcolm sighed, feeling anxiety coil in his belly like a python. "I suspect it'll be pretty bad."

"You're looking for a way to spin it."

"I wish I could, but I donna see how. And the PM's at a critical moment. He has this year to really show what Labour can do, and then we're getting ready for the general election. He can't afford any negative exposure."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"Yes."

"I think it's easier for you to worry about things from a political standpoint than to deal with how this effects you, personally."

"What do you mean? Of course this affects me personally. I'm at ground zero. I'm his fucking son, for Christ sakes."

"How do you feel about that?"

 _Goddamn._ "No, don't you fucking start, too! Jesus Christ! I can't even get away from it in my cunting dreams."

"Malcolm." The party leader leaned forward. The look of compassion on his face brought tears to Malcolm's eyes. He swallowed around a painful lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that when you were a kid. I can't imagine what it was like. To have a father like that – just horrible. I read the _Examiner_ piece. Those were the original articles from your father's trial, right? He was one sick bastard, for sure."

When Andy leaned back, Malcolm saw that the _Examiner_ lay open across the coffee table, turned to the centre spread showing pictures of the evidence shown at trial. _The Tattler_ and _The Guardian_ were stacked neatly on the edge of the table.

"So, how are you holding up?"

Malcolm laughed, even as he swiped away a rogue tear. "Not well. Left home yesterday and apparently I got pretty drunk. Lost a whole day. Sam's worried sick. I texted her and told her I'd be home tomorrow, but I don't really know how to go on from here."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, from what I heard yesterday, even though I don't remember it, I think it's likely my father did more than beat me. No. I know he did. I think I've always known. Talking to the inspector, I remembered how my father got me into the shed that time. I feel so…every time I think about it I just shut down. It's like I've blown a fuse.

"How do I go to work tomorrow and face everybody when I've got all this going on? How do I handle the press? The ministers? What do I say to the PM? To Sam? How do I act when I feel so shitty inside? I can barely even face you, and you're not even really here."

Roth waited to respond until Malcolm finally looked him in the eye. When he did, his voice was heavy with concern. "Malcolm. You've got to let this stuff out or it will eat you alive."

That did it. The damn dam burst. Malcolm cried for a long time. His chest heaved. His nose ran. His face burned. Andy sat next to him and rubbed his back as the sobs ripped through him. This was very out-of-character for the straight-shooting, no nonsense, real deal party leader, and very out of character for Malcolm, as well. He reminded himself that this was a dream, and all normal conventions were suspended.

The crying made it hard to breathe. His sinuses and lungs felt full and heavy. He was giddy. For some reason his right arm was hurting. Maybe he'd pulled a muscle. The emotion exhausted him, and he gradually wound down. He lay back into the sofa with his eyes closed, ashamed to meet Roth's gaze.

"You have a lot on your plate right now. I know it's hard. I wish I could really be here for you, Malc. You've got to tow the line. I know you have a lot to work through from the past. But remember, only the present has potential. Think about the example you want to be. Maybe that will help. Wish I hadn't lost sight of that at the end." He heard Andy get up from the sofa and move across the room. Maybe he wanted to give Malcolm space so he could pull himself together.

His arm was really hurting. Fire radiated down from the shoulder to his fingertips. _Heart attack? Nae, that'd be the left arm._ Finally he cracked his eyes open. To his surprise, he was no longer sitting on the sofa in his suite in the Royal Trafalgar, and Andy was nowhere in sight. Instead, Malcolm was in his old flat in Maryhill, striding purposefully into the sitting room from his bedroom, shinty club clasped tightly in his right hand. His father stood behind the sofa, smoking a fag. His back was to Malcolm. His mother was on the sofa, comforting Julia.

Nobody saw it coming.

"This is for Duncan, you bent fucking wanker!" Malcolm's raised the club over his head. His arm was hot steel. He felt the prick of fresh grief and the sharp stab of rage. Down came the club on his father's neck. The bastard grunted and fell to his knees. Malcolm's mother shrieked. Malcolm clasped the club in both hands, tightened his grip and hit him again. This time, blood sprayed from his nose and mouth. He hit again, getting the shoulder this time. Then the head again. Then the ribs. His father lay motionless, perhaps unconscious, perhaps even dead. And Malcolm kept going until two constables pulled him off and pinned him to the floor.

There was a lot of noise. His mother crying. Julia crying. Police radios going off. The wail of an ambulance arriving. Underneath it all a high-pitched tone rang in his ears.

Malcolm saw the silhouettes of neighbours gathered at the front of the building as the constables led him out in handcuffs and pressed him into the back of a car. Malcolm felt calm inside. His right arm felt heavy and numb, but he knew later it would be very sore, indeed.

Two constables got into the front of the car. Malcolm was separated from them by a metal screen. The one in the driver's seat made a report over the radio while the other filled out a logbook. Malcolm looked out the window as they pulled away from the only home he had ever known. His neighbours were lined up in the darkness to watch the spectacle.

Malcolm saw Fiona Clatcher standing on the front stoop, speaking solemnly with Julius Nicholson and Marianne Swift. Two of his old classmates sat on the curb with Jamie's son, Morgan, who clasped a football loosely to his chest. Jamie stood behind Morgan, holding Maisie in one arm and talking on his Blackberry. The look of betrayal on his face gave Malcolm a rush of anxiety.

Nicola Murray was there, surrounded by her whole team. They watched him dispassionately. Ollie caught his eye and nodded, as if confirming something he'd always suspected. He saw the silhouette of Julia and his Mum through the window of their living room.

The constable in the passenger seat turned on the siren as they picked up momentum. It ran counterpoint to the ringing in Malcolm's ears. He turned to look at Malcolm through the screen and that's when Malcolm noticed it was Philip Peel. MacFarland was in the driver's seat, hair pulled into a braid and tucked under her cap.

"Peel." His voice was foreign to his own ears. It was the voice of his fourteen-year-old self, hoarse from yelling and still scratchy and squeaky with puberty. Peel did not look as if he recognised Malcolm. His eyes were stern behind the thick lenses of his spectacles.

"Listen, son, you need to cooperate. You can't hide anything from us, so you might as well just be honest and you'll find things go more smoothly."

"Yes, sir." Peel nodded his approval, then consulted his logbook.

"Now, I need you to tell me how things got to such a state. This didn't have to happen. Why didn't you come forward about what was going on at home?"

Malcolm felt his face flush. He couldn't meet Peel's eyes. The silence spun out. Malcolm realised he'd have to come up with an answer.

"I thought I had the situation under control." Peel huffed a surprised laugh.

"Son, if there's one thing you should have learned by now, it's that you have no control. Zilch. Nothing."

In addition to the high-pitched ringing, there was now a heavy buzzing noise. Malcolm's field of vision darkened, and Peel and MacFarland faded. He felt the handcuffs and car seat melt away.

 _What next?_ Malcolm thought. Like Ebenezer Scrooge, was he going to be visited by yet another apparition? His head swam. He felt like he was standing in an echo chamber. It was dark and cold. There were whispers and noises he couldn't quite decipher. Occasionally, he caught brief snippets of familiar conversations.

" _Wotcher do in school today, Twat?"_ He knew that voice.

" _Malcolm, you'd best see to it that your sister does her homework or your father will have something to say about it."_

" _Malcolm, it's going to be okay, but you've got to answer their questions."_ That sounded like Nicola Murray.

" _What? Fuck – Malcolm, we can't let him do this. I won't let him do this to you. Someone's got to take this cunt down."_

" _Malcolm, maybe you should have put yourself in time out."_ Thanks for that, Ollie. No shit.

" _Are you sure you're up to this, Luv? You look tired."_

" _Remember, only the present has potential. Think about the example you want to be. Maybe that will help."_

Malcolm struggled through the noise and darkness and wrenched himself awake. He was in the Royal Trafalgar, room 313, and the oxygen saturation alarm was going off. His lungs were heavy with congestion. Even with the oxygen on, it was hard to breathe. He forced himself to sit up. His head swam as he blearily looked at the sat monitor. He was at 68 percent oxygen saturation. _Need to fix that,_ he thought. _But how?_

The nebuliser was next to the bed, but the medication was in the living room. He set his sights on the bedroom door and stood shakily. His chest rumbled. He stood by the bed and waited while he coughed phlegmily. Finally, his airway felt a little clearer. He gathered up the nebuliser and slowly made his way out to the sunken living room, where he found the box of nebuliser solution on the coffee table. _That's the ticket._

He felt much better after the breathing treatment and a brief, dreamless doze on the sofa. When Malcolm returned to the bedroom he saw the note on the nightstand, folded to form a triangle. _Won't be needing that._ Malcolm crumpled it up and dropped it in the bin next to the desk.

Next, he took the bottle of the original anti-anxiety prescription into the lav and dumped them into the toilet. Flushing them down, it occurred to him that somewhere in the Thames, there were fish who would soon find relief from their anxiety about the state of things. _Just doing my bit for the community._

Looking in the closet, he decided he'd need to go home for a fresh suit for work. That decision made, he dressed in the suit he'd worn the day before and called for a car.


	76. Chapter 76

**Author's Notes**

Sorry for the delay in getting this posted. I was traveling, but I'm home now and starting work on the next chapter. Thanks for the reviews and follows – you brighten my day and inspire me to keep the chapters coming.

* * *

"Well, let's give it five more minutes."

Jamie paced nervously in front of Sam's desk. It was eight o'clock and the team was gathered in Malcolm's office for the daily comms meeting. In spite of his assurances the previous day, Malcolm had not yet arrived at Number Ten.

Sam felt stress pool in her belly and breathed to make it go away. She'd slept like a rock last night even though she was still terribly worried about Malcolm. Perhaps her body just shut down from sheer exhaustion.

She'd awoken this morning facing Malcolm's side of the bed, which was just as empty as the previous morning. All the angst of Tuesday fell back upon her. She had to use a lot of mental energy to wrest her thoughts out of fear and worry and focus on Malcolm's text as a beacon to returning normalcy.

At 8:05, Robyn poked her head out of Malcolm's office.

"Jamie, are we starting any time soon?"

"Yes, of course. Just a few more minutes. Sorry." Robyn disappeared behind the closing office door.

"Jamie, you should just go get it started. Waiting isn't helping anything. Which hotel was he staying at? I'll give a call there."

"What? Oh, the Royal Trafalgar. But I'm sure he's on his way, Sam."

Sam's anxiety notched up about three hundred percent. "The Royal Trafalgar! Jamie, why didn't you tell me?"

Jamie's surprised expression told Sam he didn't know the significance of that hotel.

Just then, her mobile buzzed with an incoming text.

 **MALCOLM:** Sorry, Luv, late start. On my way. Pls tell Jamie to run mtg.

Sam sighed. _Thank God._ "Jamie, it's Malc. He's running late and needs you to start the meeting."

Jamie's look of relief confirmed he had been equally worried. "Right. Well, off to it, then."

After the office door shut behind him, Sam went to the lav to freshen up. She wanted to look perfect when Malcolm finally arrived. There was no need for him to know what a mess she'd been these last two days.

* * *

The old bastard came in to the comms meeting just as Jamie was wrapping up. Malcolm was clean-shaven and bright eyed, and responded well to the friendly ribbing from the team about rolling in at the close of the meeting. He had the pulse-ox on but wasn't using the oxygen. Jamie thought his breathing sounded worse then the day before, but perhaps it was typically worse in the morning.

"You had us worried when you didna show up this morning."

"I know. Sorry about that. I woke up late and needed to go back to the house for clothes. Thanks again for coming by yesterday."

"You better have something good planned to make things up to Sam. She's been a wreck, Malc."

Malcolm nodded, his expression serious. "Taking her to lunch today. We'll see how it goes." Jamie restrained his urge to ask the enforcer how he was doing. Instead, he filled Malcolm in on current issues and the lines he'd just given the team. When he left Malcolm's office he smelled the aroma before he even saw the impressive vase of a dozen long-stemmed red roses on Sam's desk. _And rightly_ so, he thought. And then, _When's the last time I gave Bev flowers?_

* * *

Malcolm pulled out the chair for Sam at the linen-covered table. They were at a little French bistro. It was one of Sam's favourite lunch places. Malcolm couldn't think of a better place to take her on short notice.

It was 13:00, with the lunch rush on the ebb as groups of diners finished their meals and settled their bills. Malcolm had asked for and obtained a small table toward the back of the restaurant. It was secluded enough that they were saved from the din of a crowded restaurant and could talk without fear of being overheard.

Sam looked tired. While she smiled when he arrived at the office this morning and accepted the flowers and his kiss on her cheek, she seemed reserved and thoughtful. He hated that he'd worried her, and wanted to make it up to her, though he knew that wasn't really possible. Trust had to be earned. He was nervous about lunch and how this conversation would go.

They studied the menus in silence. When the waitress arrived, they ordered. Malcolm waited until the server returned with their drinks and a basket of bread. He stole a glance at the Pulse-Ox before he began.

"Sam, I'm so sorry for worrying you. It must have been difficult not knowing where I was." Sam maintained a carefully neutral expression. Malcolm surmised that she was angry.

"I had some difficulty taking in what Peel told us about my father. I'm still struggling with it. In the moment, it felt like I needed to get away to sort through it. That wasn't about you. I love you, and trust you with my life. It just felt like something I had to do on my own. Can you forgive me?"

Sam's composure cracked a little. Her eyes welled up. Malcolm felt a lump in his throat. _We're so fucking codependent_ , Malcolm thought.

She put her hand over his. Her hand was always so warm and soft. "Yes, Malc. I forgive you. But _please_ never do that again. I was worried sick." A tear slipped from one eye. She wiped it away. "And _why_ did you go to the Royal Trafalgar? _Jesus_ , Malc."

Jamie must have told her. He wondered what else he'd told her. His stomach clenched with remorse.

Their salad arrived. Malcolm waited until the server left before he answered. He struggled to find the words – a rare thing for a communications guy.

"Luv, it's hard to explain. I was upset. I didna know where to go or what to do. I was thinking of Andy, and wishing he were here to talk things over with. I thought perhaps if I went there I might feel closer to him." No need to tell Sam about either of his experiments. Malc thought if he told her about his trippy dreams, she might want to call Jacobs and ask to have him committed.

A few more tears fell at the mention of Roth. Malcolm imagined she was sad that he no longer had a mentor to turn to. "And you got drunk? That's not like you, Malcolm."

 _Terrific. Thanks, Jamie._ Malcolm smiled a little shamefacedly. "I just thought I'd try it. See if it helped me to feel better. It didn't, and I wilna be doing that again. Nasty stuff – I donna know how you manage it." That won him a smile and lightened the mood at the table. Sam took a piece of bread and picked up her salad fork, which was evidence that perhaps her worries were somewhat relieved. Malcolm did the same.

"So how are you? Did you get what you needed from the time away?" Malcolm cast his eyes aside and then forced them back to Sam's.

"I'm – dealing with it, I guess. Probably a good thing I've got Jacobs today."

"Oh shit!" Sam grimaced and hit her forehead with her fist, as if she'd just remembered something.

"Please don't be mad. I was really worried. I wanted to call the police, but I knew they'd tell me it was too soon to search for you, so I called Jacobs. I'm sorry Malc. I just wanted to ask if he'd heard from you. I was worried that you'd gone off to do yourself in or something." Malc breathed deeply, feeling the anger, but also knowing why she did it. And also knowing her fears weren't far from the truth. That knowledge softened his anger considerably.

"What did he say?"

"He told me he couldn't tell me anything. He was right to do that. He asked me to tell you we had talked and to call him."

They discussed it and in the end Malcolm opted to call the doc right then, at a minimum to confirm their appointment, which was in a few short hours. He left a message with Jacob's receptionist while the salads were removed and replaced with their entrees.

"Sam, I need to tell you something, and it's hard. I love you. You know that right?" He clasped her hand.

"Of course, Malc. Spit it out – you're scaring me."

"It's about what you told me on Monday about talking to Peel and not filling me in."

"Malc, I-"

"Please, Sam, let me get this out." Malcolm breathed. His heart was beating fast in his chest. He wasn't good at this type of thing.

"I was angry when you told me about it, and hurt. I felt like you didna think I could take care of myself. And you know how I hate being out of the loop." She was crying outright now. Shit. He hated making her cry. But if he didn't get it out, it would fester and lead to more trouble down the road.

"Sam, please, Luv, never do that again. I know you meant well, but I really need to know you are with me all the way, and part of that is not having secrets."

"I know. I'm so sorry, Malc. Can you forgive me?" He felt the knot in his throat loosen.

"Sam, I already have."

After lunch they headed to St. Thomas's for Malcolm's pre-operative lab work and appointment with Jacobs. Sam drove, and they chatted about mundane matters, such as the colours Sam picked out for an accent wall in their dining room. Malcolm assumed she'd used that project to take her mind off of things while he was away.

Malcolm weighed in at 8 ¼ stone, which was just barely under where Doctor Ravi wanted him. He was happy with that, and felt sure he could make up the difference in the remaining two days. Sam also seemed happy about his weight, giving his arm a warm squeeze. The nurse drew two large phials of blood for the lab work and then covered a printed list of pre-operative instructions.

With that hurdle behind them, Malcolm and Sam took the elevator up to the sixth floor for Malcolm's appointment with Jacobs.


	77. Chapter 77

**Author's Notes**

This came together sooner than expected, so here is Chapter 77 for your weekend reading pleasure.

* * *

"You're not on the oxygen today. I trust that's a good sign." Following the pattern of their previous appointment, Jacobs fixed coffee and then sat next to Malcolm in the seats on the patient side of the desk. Sam was in the waiting area, reading a paperback.

"Yes, I think so." While the congestion had been frighteningly bad when he first awoke at the hotel, his breathing was considerably better after the morning's nebuliser treatment. Since then, he'd had no low oxygen alarms, and other than using the oxygen during the car ride home for a change in clothes, he hadn't had to put on the cannula.

"Thanks for confirming the appointment. I take it that Sam asked you to ring me."

"Aye. She told me she called."

"Yes. She was very worried about you."

"I know."

"She mentioned you got some bad news and left home. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I suppose so." Malcolm organised his thoughts.

"I haven't told you much about the investigation in Glasgow yet, have I?"

"You've mentioned it, but haven't gone into details."

"Well, I suppose I ought to fill you in on that. When I was eight I saw my father kill a boy named Colin Clatcher. He was two years old." Malcolm tried to read the counsellor's reaction. Jacobs appeared to take it in with a neutral expression. He seemed equally interested in observing Malcolm. _Well, I suppose that's his job_ , Malcolm thought.

"Like the shed incident when I was six, I managed to convince myself that it didna really happen. Then, when I was in hospital a few weeks back, in the course of telling Sam about the time in the shed I remembered what happened to Colin and told her about it. She and my sister felt strongly I should take it to the authorities, and eventually, I did. Since then, Police Strathclyde has been conducting an investigation.

"I got an update on Monday from my contact in The Met's CID. His name is Peel. He's the one who originally interviewed me, and he keeps me posted on what's going on with the Police Strathclyde investigation. It turns out that they've linked my father with as many as fifteen child disappearances. All small boys. A few were found dead. Apparently, there was dried semen on some of the children's clothing they recovered from the shed my father used as a work area. They took samples from my sister and I to do a test to see if it's my father's DNA on the clothing.

"In the course of the meeting with Peel, he did a special kind of interview to help me remember how my father got me into the shed that time when I was six. I did remember more about it. I was helping Da in the garage. I'd fetched the wrong tool for him and he sent me back for the right one. I was looking for it when he knocked me over and started kicking me. He ended up straddling me and holding a rag saturated with some chemical over my nose and mouth. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the shed. Peel said it was chloro-something - "

"Chloro-ethane?"

"Yes, that's the one. Peel says gay men use it to get high."

The clock ticked. Jacobs scrutinised Malcolm, who resisted the urge to squirm in his chair. He forced himself to maintain eye contact. Finally, the counsellor spoke.

"You found all this out on Monday?"

"Aye."

"I imagine it was quite a shock. What was your reaction?"

"I guess I shut down. I just couldna take it in. Sam was there, but I was pissed at her because she'd known some of what the Chief Inspector told me since Friday. It hurt my trust, I suppose. And my dignity.

"I ended up calling a car and checking in to a hotel. I left her a note."

"I see. What were you planning on doing?"

"I just wanted to get somewhere alone. I wanted privacy." Malcolm considered telling Jacobs about his trippy Roth dreams. If he did, then he'd have to tell Jacobs he'd taken the original medication in order to induce the dream. _No secrets_ , Malcolm reminded himself.

"I went to a hotel that had special significance to me. Do you remember Andy Roth?"

"Wasn't he the Labour Party leader who committed suicide a few years back?"

"Yes. He did it in the Royal Trafalgar. He overdosed on a mixture of alcohol and barbiturates. I was the one who found him. He was an important mentor to me." Jacobs leaned back in his chair, casting his eyes up to the painting on the opposite wall, apparently thinking through what Malcolm had shared. Finally his penetrating gaze returned to Malcolm.

"You wished you could talk to your mentor."

"That's right."

"Malcolm, I have to ask this. Please don't take offence. Were you thinking about killing yourself?"

It was Malcolm's turn to look away.

"Maybe. But not seriously. I did want an easy way out, though. I ended up getting drunk for the first time in my life. Lost a whole day.

"Doc, the last time we met I told you the anti-anxiety pills were giving me trippy dreams. You put me on a different medication." Jacobs nodded. "Well, in most of those trippy dreams, Andy showed up. Just like in real life, he had advise for me." Jacobs seemed to know where Malcolm was going. His jaw clenched and he sat forward in his chair. Malcolm breathed and continued.

"I thought maybe if I was in that hotel, in the room where he offed himself, and took the original medication I could have another dream like that and get some help with things."

"That was quite risky, Malcolm, with your breathing issues. You didn't take alcohol with that, did you?" Malcolm felt himself blush a little.

"No, I didna mix it with alcohol." _At least, I don't think so, though there's that whole missing day where I could have._ "I know it was risky, doc, and kind of silly, looking back." Jacobs relaxed his posture. Malcolm took that as a cue to continue.

"I did end up having a dream. In the dream, I told Andy what was going on and he comforted me."

"What else did you dream?"

"A lot of psychedelic shit. I remembered when my parents came home from hospital to tell us Duncan was dead. I remembered beating the living fuck out of my Da. In the dream, when the constables led me out, all my neighbours were gathered, watching me. But there were also a lot of people I know today mixed in with them."

"Anything else?"

"I was in a dark place for a while, hearing voices, and then I woke up."

Jacob stood and strode to the coffee pot. He offered Malcolm a warm-up, which Malcolm declined. After topping off his own cup, he returned to his chair.

"How did you feel physically when you woke up?"

"I was a bit congested, so I took a breathing treatment, which helped."

"I'm glad to hear that. Do you still have the original medication?"

"Nae, I sent it down the toilet. I know that's not eco-friendly, but I just wanted to get rid of them."

"That makes sense. So, physically, you were more or less okay. You were very lucky. How were you feeling emotionally?"

"Cleaned out, I guess. Ready to get on with things." Jacob nodded, as if this confirmed what he was thinking.

"It sounds like you were at an impasse when you left home. I'm glad you got to a place where you felt like you could carry on."

"Yes, that's right. Went home and got clothes, stopped at my solicitor's to sign some documents, bought some flowers for Sam and went to work."

"So far, you've told me a lot of things you thought and actions you took. I'd like to get down to your feelings. Let's process things a little, starting with when you met with the inspector and he told you what they'd found out about your father."

Jacobs stood again, this time returning to his desk. He retrieved a sheet of paper from the top drawer and returned to his chair, handing it to Malcolm. Malcolm scanned the front of the sheet and saw a series of cartoon faces showing different expressions with feelings written underneath.

"This may seem pretty elementary, but it can be useful in identifying feelings. Most people go through life operating from the neck up. They think about facts and perceptions. They detach from their emotions and keep the focus on actions. That's especially true in the business arena.

"I'd like you to think about your meeting with the inspector and tell me what you felt during the meeting using only words you see on this page."

Even though the exercise felt childish and silly, Malcolm dutifully explored the page.

"There are some missing ones. I don't see a face for when you feel fucked over."

"What does 'feeling fucked over' feel like?" Malcolm cast the sheet aside. He hated doing this stuff.

"Like I've got no options. Like everything is out of my control. No matter what I do, things are going to move forward. The news about my Da is going to come out. Even though it happened in Glasgow, it will be big here because it's me. People will speculate about me and my reliability. And I'm not sure how well I'm going to handle it." Jacobs didn't respond immediately. Malcolm allowed the silence to stretch out.

"When I'm in situations where I can't control things or predict the outcome, I'm usually feeling a lot of different emotions. Look on the sheet. What are some of the ones you're feeling?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes, but retrieved the sheet from where he'd laid it on the edge of the desk.

"Definitely anxiety. I donna know what's going to happen next, and I doubt any of it's going to be good."

"I can see how you're feeling anxious. Lack of control can be scary."

"I'm mad and hurt about how Sam held things back from me."

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"Yes. Took her to lunch today and apologised for disappearing on her. I told her I was mad that she didn't tell me what she learned from Peel on Friday and that it hurt my feelings. It was hard. I didna want to because I knew it would upset her. But I had to or it would only be worse."

"That's really good, Malcolm. For someone who's never been in therapy, you're very self-aware."

"That's because of Andy. In the early days, he was always on my case about my bad behaviour. I was pretty angry back then. He helped me find ways to deal with it."

"Don't sell yourself short. I think you're very in touch with what's going on inside and are concerned about how your actions affect other people." Malcolm wanted to protest but resisted the urge, sensing it would take them away from where Jacobs was trying to go.

"Back to Monday. What else were you feeling?" Malcolm studied the sheet again. As he did, he felt something tightening inside and pressure behind his eyes.

"Ashamed." Now there was a lump in his throat. Jacob paused before responding.

"Why were you ashamed?" Malcolm's heartbeat sped up. His cheeks felt hot. He looked down at the floor in front of him. His eyes welled up. He breathed and tried to manage the wave of emotions assailing him.

"Don't try to make it go away. It's okay to show your emotions here. Why were you ashamed?"

"He did things to me. I know he did. I was probably his first. But I donna want to remember. I wish he'd killed me like he did those other kids."

Malcolm let go, like he did in the dream with Andy. It was a good while before he could continue. Jacobs offered a box of tissues, which Malcolm accepted. When the saturation alarm sounded Malcolm blew his nose, put on the cannula and made an effort to pull himself together. When he finally looked up at Jacobs he saw nothing but understanding and compassion.

"It had to feel good to get that out." Malcolm breathed for a bit before answering. He was so damn tired.

"I wouldna call it good. Maybe a it's relief to say it and get it over with."

"Breakthroughs never feel really good in the moment. Thank you for sharing this with me."

Malcolm sensed their hour was drawing to a close. "So what happens next, doc? How can I get through this?"

Jacobs returned to the other side of his desk, opening Malcolm's file, which was sitting on the leather-inlayed surface. He studied what was there before responding.

"I recall you have your surgery this Friday, and I imagine there's a lot to do between now and then."

"You're not wrong there," Malcolm said, grateful to shift to more practical topics.

"But you've also got a lot going on emotionally right now, and I'm concerned about you. My preliminary diagnosis is complex post-traumatic stress disorder, both from the physical abuse and also the sexual abuse. Under more normal circumstances, my recommendation would be for you to start inpatient therapy immediately. An inpatient setting gives you a safe place to do some intense work. Our goal would be to work through as much of your childhood as we can and identify what triggers the worst of your symptoms. Once we know the triggers, we can do a lot to defuse them and develop techniques you can use to work around them. Given your upcoming surgery, I recommend that we plan for you to go inpatient as soon as possible once you've been cleared for normal activities by your physician."

Malcolm didn't see it coming. His stomach clenched painfully.

"No way, Jacobs. Sorry. I canna do that. It would be political suicide. We need to find another way." Jacobs' expression conveyed his concern and also his anticipation of Malcolm's refusal.

"We can do the same work on an outpatient basis, but in my experience, that takes a lot longer. Given your role in government, you may find it challenging to separate yourself enough from your job to be able to do the work on your past. I would like you to consider it and talk it over with Sam." The counsellor made some notes in Malcolm's file, and then pushed a small pile of brochures to Malcolm across the desk.

"Here is some information about PTSD and also a few pamphlets written for survivors of sexual and physical abuse. They may be helpful." Malcolm gathered them up and stood, preparing to leave. Jacobs walked with him to the door.

"If it's okay with you, I will give you a call tomorrow night. I would like to check in before your surgery. Please also don't hesitate to call me, day or night. If it's an emergency, tell the answering service and I will call you back as soon as I can."

In retrospect, Malcolm realised it might have been a better course of action on Monday to call Jacobs than to leave Sam a note, head to a hotel, get drunk, take a dangerous medication and chase a trippy dream to talk to his dead mentor. He was also infinitely glad that Jacobs hadn't pointed that out.

"Thanks, Doc."

Sam looked up from her novel when he entered the waiting area. He hoped his eyes didn't look as red as they felt.


	78. Chapter 78

**Author's Notes**

This chapter commemorates the dramatic and unexpected outcome of the United States presidential election. Between that and the Brexit vote, I consider this the year of epic surprises. We live in interesting times. If you need a diversion from real politics, I hope to have the next chapter up for the weekend, and there won't be anything resembling real politics in it, I promise.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **Top Stories from Wednesday, 23 November**

 _The Guardian_

 _ **The China Summit**_ – _Miller talks trade deal_

Marianna Swift, Metro reporter

 **What does the PM hope to accomplish in the Americas?** _Anticipated agenda for tomorrow's address_

Geoffrey Sullivan, Editor-in-Chief

 _The Daily Mail_

 _ **Murray poised to lead immigration reform**_ – _bold, or bizarre?_

Angela Heaney, Junior Political Correspondent

 _The Mirror_

 **Transportation inquiry launches** – _LTDA says delays still a critical problem_

Simon Hewitt, Metro Journalist

 _Glasgow Daily_

 **Police Strathclyde keeps mum on cold case investigation** – _Meet the parents and siblings of the missing_

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"Malcolm, hi, thanks for calling me back so promptly."

"What's up, Peel?" Malcolm sat on the edge of his chair at the kitchen table, shoulders tight and his face drawn into an intent expression. Sam tried to manage her own anxiety and look relaxed and reassuring.

Malcolm had retrieved his voicemail on the drive home from St. Thomas's. While she was focussed on her driving, Sam still knew the voicemail was Peel when Malcolm sat up sharply and breathed deeply.

They waited until they were home to call back. Malcolm had the call on speaker so they could both participate.

"I've had word from Douglas in Glasgow. The forensics team did a PCR test on the samples from you and your sister." The Chief Inspector hesitated. Given the way his last meeting with Malcolm went, Sam was sure he was concerned about the effect his news would have.

"And?" Sam couldn't resist the urge to reach out and rub Malc's forearm. He didn't acknowledge it, but he didn't pull away.

"It's a definitive match. The samples from the recovered clothing were your father's DNA." Malcolm closed his eyes and leant back in his chair, resigned to the news. He took his time in responding.

"So it's certain, then. What happens next?"

"Douglas wants to get the word out sooner rather than later. Since Police Strathclyde found the clothing and notified the families, there's been a lot of interest in the case. The families have actually formed a support group. Douglas is getting a lot of calls from the family members who want an update.

"Inspecting the recovered clothing was a very emotional process for them. These disappearances happened so long ago, and many of the families never got closure. It's definitely stirred things up. The local papers have picked up on it. One even did a series of stories where they interviewed families of the victims."

Malcolm made eye contact with Sam. His expression was very tense. His eyes looked sad and tired. He nodded slightly, as if silently confirming his planned approach with her.

"They should be told. They've been waiting for forty years. At least now they'll know." In that moment, Sam felt a rush of love she could barely contain. _Bless you, Malcolm_.

"Once the families know, it's going to get media attention. Douglas would like to get ahead of it and give an official statement." Malcolm sat forward, now in business mode.

"That makes sense. I would ask that Douglas share that with Jamie McDonald in advance. We'll need to do some work here to keep things from becoming a circus." Malcolm wrapped up the call with Peel and then immediately dialed Jamie. It was a brief conversation, which Malc carried out in full professional order.

Once he'd rung off, though, he set the Blackberry in the centre of the table, staring at it, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Malcolm?" Sam primed. She sensed him shutting down again like he did after the last Peel meeting.

"Sam." It came out as a tortured whisper. A lone tear coursed its way down his cheek. "He really did it. He killed them all." She pulled her chair closer, rubbing his back soothingly. More tears started to fall.

"It looks that way, Luv. I'm so sorry."

Later, Malcolm called Julia to give her the heads up. He and Julia went back and forth about whether or not to tell the kids, but ultimately opted to go with the full truth. It was likely they would hear about it from their friends as the story broke, and Malcolm argued it was better to be prepared than not. Julia put Simon and Lydia on the line and Malcolm spoke to each in turn, explaining the situation in a way that they could understand.

From listening to Malcolm's end of the conversation, Sam knew there were several points where Julia tried to get Malcolm to talk about how he was doing. He side-stepped the question a few times. Sam was just about to poke Malcolm and tell him to just be honest when he did.

"Julia, it's just really hard right now. I'm trying to deal with it, but it's hard. Yes, I am seeing someone." Julia's squawk of surprise got a smile out of Malcolm. "Yes, I know. You never thought you'd see the day." Malcolm listened to Julia's response, which was lengthy. Sam started taking the dinner things out of the fridge. She heard Malcolm say "The biopsy is on Friday. It's an outpatient thing. No, please don't bother. They say I'll be back to work on Monday. I'm sure Sam will call and let you know how it goes." Shortly after that, he wrapped up the call.

After a very low-energy dinner and a half-hour in front of BBC News, Malcolm said he was tired and went to bed in the guest room. Sam considered calling Julia, but forced herself to turn her attention away from that idea. The desire to fill in the details that Malcolm had glossed over was almost overwhelming, but if she'd learned one thing over the past few weeks, it was to recognise when she was about to trample over boundaries and stop immediately.

She forced herself to work on a crossword until she was tired, and then joined Malc in the guest room. He was out like a light, snoring gently. She managed a peek at the sat monitor and saw he was at 98%, even without the oxygen on.

When she went to hang up his suit coat, which was draped across a chair, she felt something in the inner pocket. Expecting to find his wallet, she was surprised when instead she discovered a set of pamphlets. The top one was from MIND and entitled "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)."

Instead of exploring the stack of pamphlets, Sam placed them on the dresser near Malcolm's wallet, cufflinks and watch. Perhaps they would talk about them in the morning. Perhaps not. Sam vowed not to press him if he wasn't ready.

She slid into bed and curled up next to Malcolm. He slept on. Even in sleep, his face was composed into a preoccupied frown. _Poor dear. I wish I could take all this away, but I can't._ _I am here for you, though. Always._


	79. Chapter 79

**Author's Notes**

Sorry for the delay – current events presented some challenges that kept me away. I am back, with Chapter 80 partially drafted and 81 not far behind it. If you have a moment, please leave a review. Most appreciated!

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"I don't think it's going to come to that, Malcolm." Nicholson sounded so confident. Jamie wished he felt as sure as Julius seemed.

"But we don't know, Julius. If this starts looking like it's going to impact the PM's popularity ratings, I'm going to step down."

Jamie thought Malcolm seemed pretty calm, given the impending announcement from Police Strathclyde about the investigation. Jamie had an evening call with Bruce Douglas, the Detective Inspector heading up the investigation at Police Strathclyde. After the call, Douglas sent his prepared statement for Jamie's review. It was refreshingly concise, revealing only the facts of the case. Malcolm was not named in the announcement.

The topic of this early morning meeting with Malcolm, Julius and himself was contingency planning based on how long it took for the media to connect Malcolm to Alistair Tucker and how much attention it got. The complicating factor of the timing of Malcolm's biopsy just made things even more fun. Jamie hoped the story broke on Friday while Malcolm was out of circulation so he could be the point of the spear with the press and save the old bastard that indignity.

"Okay, so if we see or hear anything that indicates that someone's made the connexion by 13:00 we'll regroup and decide whether we need a press conference today. Malcolm, I drafted your statement, in case it comes to that. It's in your In Box. Feel free to tweak it as needed."

"Thanks, Jamie." Jamie tried to read the Malcolm's non-verbals to see how he felt about the fact that Jamie had drafted the statement, but his face gave nothing away. Writing the statement was maybe a little controlling on his part, but Jamie wasn't sure what state Malcolm would be in with this latest bump in the road, and worried that he'd inadvertently reveal more information than he needed to without a script. _You can kill me later, Malc._

Plan in place, the meeting adjourned. Julius clasped Malcolm's bony shoulder as they moved toward the door.

"If I don't see you before, best of luck tomorrow, old man. Sam will keep us posted?"

"I imagine so." The PM's adviser headed for the central staircase.

"Thanks for coordinating this, Jamie. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Right."

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

When Nicola arrived in the DoSAC area of the PFI building and saw that a light was already on in her office, she took a deep breath and steeled herself for an uncertain future. _The lady or the tiger?_ She mused. It could be either Jamie or Malcolm, and here she was arriving late due to another emotional row with Ella. _No, wait – I think it's more along the lines of the tiger or the tiger._

She found Malcolm Tucker sitting in the visitor chair, tapping out a message on his Blackberry. _Well, at least that hasn't changed_.

"So you're rolling in at nine o'clock these days. Nice."

"If I'd known you wanted to meet, Malcolm, I could've been in earlier. Surely you could see your way clear to scheduling time with me?"

"If I did that, then you'd know I was coming."

Nicola rolled her eyes as she stowed her purse and sat at her desk across from Malcolm. She was secretly relieved that he was full of piss and vinegar. She'd been agonising about seeing him for the first time after reading all the articles about his abusive childhood.

She still got emotional when she thought of those pictures from the trial. That one of an adolescent Malcolm's battered torso was bad enough. But then there was a horrible post-mortem close-up of the ligature marks on the younger Tucker child's wrists. _Jesus._ No wonder Malcolm was such a bastard.

He looked good. That awful bruise on his brow and cheekbone was gone. While still too thin, he looked like he'd gained some weight since she'd last seen him. She noted that he still had the oxygen with him, though he wasn't wearing it at the moment.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure? I can't recall anything I've fucked up recently, so you have me at a disadvantage."

"Did you see the _Daily Mail_ piece on you yesterday?"

"The Angela Heaney one?"

"Yes, that one. Why, are there others I should be aware of?"

"No, of course not! Malcolm, I didn't go out there looking for someone to do a write up, mind you – _she_ came to _me_."

"And you came off sounding like a flake again. We've talked about this. You should have put her off and gotten Jamie or I involved."

 _This. Again._ "Malcolm, I wish I _had_ gotten you or Jamie involved, just so you could be there as witness when I spoke with her. Really, she put a lot of spin on things to make it sound like we don't have our act together here in DoSAC. Its her bias. I came across fine." Well, okay, there were one or two things Nicola regretted saying to the youthful journalist.

Malcolm sat forward in his chair. "But that's just it, Nicola. That's what journalists do. You're going to have to find ways to manage that. The easiest way for you to do that is put them off and get Jamie and I involved."

They discussed the communications plan for the immigration reform initiative. Nicola did make a point of calling out that Ollie was instrumental in developing the communications plan. He seemed to have truly turned over a new leaf. Now, if only Nicola could find a way to get Glenn and Terri to follow suit, she just might have a career in politics.

Malcolm's Blackberry buzzed with a new text and he paused mid-sentence to glance at it. When he read the message he visibly paled.

"Malcolm?" He stared down at his device for several seconds, seemingly lost in thought.

"Is everything okay?" When he looked up Nicola was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

"Malcolm, what is it?" The enforcer cleared his throat, diverting his gaze as he stood and made his way to the door.

"Got to make a call. I'm not here tomorrow, so be sure to check in with Jamie in the morning." With no further explanation, Malcolm left her office and bee-lined it out of the DoSAC area, trundling the oxygen alongside him.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **JAMIE:** We've got swirl. Coordinating a 16:00 press conf. at #10.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"Julia, it's Malc. I know you're working, and there's no need to call back. We've got some swirl here about the break in the case and I am doing a press conference this afternoon. Just wanted you to know in advance in case things get ugly up there in Edinburgh. Might be good to keep the kids home from school tomorrow. Love ya."

Malc rang off and immediately called Peel, who answered right away.

"Peel, this is Malcolm. Just letting you know we're doing a press conference at 16:00 today at Number 10."

"So they've connected you to the case already? That was fast."

Malcolm grinned bitterly at that. He wasn't surprised at all that the media made the connexion. After all, they were primed by the tabloid pieces and the _Guardian_ write-up less than a week ago. While Jamie had done a brilliant job controlling the exposure, Malcolm had no doubt that the tabloids and possibly some legitimate news sources hadn't dropped the thread of the narrative, and still had feelers out for deeper intel. And here it was, served up on a nice fancy platter for them.

"Yes, well, they're doing their job. The press conference is at Number Ten and I'm sure it will be broadcast, so I just thought you'd better know."

"Thanks, Malcolm. And, good luck."

Malcolm ended the call and stowed his device. He was outside of the DoSAC office space, near the elevator. He took a deep breath and let it out, trying to get a grip. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. He armed perspiration off of his brow with one shaky hand, looking around for someplace private where he could sit down and collect himself.

He had expected a text from Jamie, but really didn't think anything would pop until later in the day. When the text came in while he was meeting with Murray, the rush of adrenaline made him suddenly giddy and nauseous. It transported him back to his trippy dream of the other night, when he was sitting in the back of the police car, looking out at all the people who had come to watch. _So much for those new fucking meds, Jacobs._

He managed to pull himself together enough to get himself away from Nicola, who looked very concerned. Once he was out by the elevator, he felt an overwhelming need to protect Julia and the kids from any potential media fallout. Maybe the kids wouldn't have any problems in school, but maybe they would. He knew on some level that we was overreacting, but he didn't want Lydia and Simon to experience anything like what he went through during his father's trial.

He spied the men's room and popped in to splash water on his face and possibly to vomit. The former seemed to alleviate the need to do the latter. After drying his face, Malcolm looked at himself in the mirror. He looked a little white, but other than that he thought he looked pretty composed. Good.

Then a toilet flushed and Ollie emerged from the stall, fastening his flies.

"Malcolm." Reeder looked as surprised as Malcolm felt.

Malcolm was momentarily at a loss for words. Ollie was actually his next planned stop, but Malcolm wasn't sure he could proceed with the original game plan. Reeder stepped awkwardly around him to get access to the sink.

"Erm, how are you? I didn't know you were here." There was a lot going on in Ollie's expression. Malcolm sensed some reticence. Perhaps, like the comms team, Ollie wasn't sure what to say after everything that had come out in the press. He cleared his throat and straightened up a little.

"I'm good, Ollie. I was just on my way to find you. Let's take a few minutes to catch up. You can update me on Transport, and I know you're working with Nicola on the immigration thing."

They exited the men's room together and found an unoccupied conference room. Malcolm felt almost normal. _Thanks for the distraction, Reeder._ The little twat was coming along nicely, thanks to Jamie's efforts and the lucky misfortune in Transpo that resulted in a side job for the junior adviser.

Ollie gave him a summary of Tom's ham-handed efforts to lead the inquiry panel, which Malcolm already knew about from Jamie. He was pleased to see that Ollie was actively engaged in trying to move things in the right direction and not just going through the motions. He nodded in the right places, asking a few questions, but largely letting Ollie carry the conversation along.

His Blackberry buzzed twice in his suit coat pocket while Ollie transitioned to updating him on Nicola's immigration reform initiative and associated communications plan. Malcolm already knew about that as well, having just heard it from Nicola, but that was fine.

The third time his Blackberry buzzed, Ollie stopped mid-sentence and asked "Hadn't you better look at that? It might be important."

"No, I know what it's about. Go on." Malcolm breathed, forcing himself to focus on Ollie and resist the urge to check his messages.

Once they finished discussing Ollie's involvement in the immigration reform initiative, Malcolm reinforced the importance of Ollie's role in steering things and stood to leave. The profoundly relieved expression on Ollie's face alerted Malcolm to a potential problem. Something was missing. _Right. The bollocking._ Malcolm scanned through the content of their meeting but couldn't come up with anything that required bollocking. Either he truly was off his form or Reeder really had made some changes.

Back in the street, Malcolm spied the car from the service and gratefully sank into the back seat, positioning the oxygen stand between his legs. The driver made eye contact with him in the rear view mirror. It was Elvis, one of the regular service drivers.

"You on the news, Malcolm." Malcolm sighed and closed his eyes.

"Don't go there, Elvis. Not today. Just fucking drive. Okay?"

"Okay, boss. Back to Number Ten?"

"Aye." They pulled away from the PFI building. Malcolm finally extracted his device and checked the screen. There were several texts and voice mails to keep him busy on the ride.


	80. Chapter 80

**Author's Notes**

I hope my American readers had a wonderful and thoughtful Thanksgiving. It's early Thursday afternoon in Reshuffle land, and the hour of the press conference swiftly approaches. Interestingly, in Reshuffle time it is 24 November, and on the real world calendar right now in North America it is Saturday, 26 November. I'm starting work on 81 now. If you have a moment, please leave a review – it means a lot to this author! Thanks so much for sticking with this story.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"How did they pick it up so fast?" Malcolm heard the sound of paper hitting a hard surface, and imagined that Jamie had just moved a stack of files from his chair in order to sit down.

"I've been monitoring the media in Glasgow. _STV News_ got a reaction to the Police Strathclyde announcement from Fiona Clatcher. She remembers you, by the way. Told the journalist on live TV all about how she used to watch you and Julia. She also mentioned how your brother died, and the trial. Said she wasn't surprised it was your father; she'd suspected him at the time and told the police, but they didn't do anything, according to her. She went on in that vain for quite a bit."

"Fuck me."

"I can send you the link, Malc, but it might be better if you didna watch it." Malcolm heard Jamie's Blackberry buzzing on the other end of the line.

"How bad is it?" Jamie paused before responding.

"It's not what we hoped for, but let me worry about that. Where are you now?"

"On my way back to the office."

"Okay. That's good. Malcolm, I know this is hard, but I really think it's best if you don't tune in to any media and turn off your Blackberry. Seeing any of this isna going to make the press conference any easier. I will monitor things, and if we need to make adjustments to your statement, I will let you know. Just…try to relax and get ready for the press conference. I've got to take care of a few details for the conference, but I will pop in before the event."

"To hell with that, Jamie. I canna be out of the loop like that. We've talked about this."

"Malcolm, please. You've got to trust me on this. You _donna_ _want_ to see this coverage."

Malcolm had nothing left to say to that, and Elvis was looking at him again in the rearview mirror, so he ended the call.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Back at Number Ten, Malcolm went in through the rear entrance and headed directly into his office. The message light on his desk phone was blinking imperatively. He ignored it. He searched his contacts on his Blackberry and selected Doctor Jacobs. Miraculously, the line only rang once and Jacobs himself picked up.

"Malcolm, I've heard the news. How are you doing?" That one question, with the obvious concern in Jacobs' voice, almost unstrung him completely, just like during his appointment the day before. The pulse oximeter sounded. Malcolm tried for a deep breath, but his diaphragm was so tight that all he could manage was a small sip of air. The lump in his throat made speech impossible. Jacobs must have sensed it.

"I want you to relax. Are you sitting down? Go ahead and do what you did during your first appointment. Just lean back and close your eyes and focus on your breathing."

Malcolm set the device on his blotter and did as he was told. His heart was racing. His jaw was clenched. He ignored them for the moment and put all of his attention on relaxing and taking a nice deep breath. The first one was a little rough, but the second one was better. After a few moments of this he was surprised to hear Jacobs on the device.

"Are you feeling better now?"

Malcolm opened his eyes and picked up his device. "Yes, thanks." His voice was a bit trembly. "So, you've seen the coverage." He saw his sat was at 90% and decided to put on the oxygen.

"No, I heard it on the radio on the way in to the office."

"The media picked up on it much sooner than we expected. Jacobs, you've got to help me. I had another one of those flashbacks when I was meeting with a minister. Thought I was going to climb out of my fucking skin."

"What do you have to do between now and your press conference?" Malcolm thought back to his diary for the day.

"Nothing. I was only going to work until noon today, and I have no meetings."

"That's good. Is Sam with you?"

"Nae. I just got back from a visit to DoSAC. She doesn't know I've returned." There was another pause, during which Malcolm assumed Jacobs was thinking.

"I think it would be a good idea for you to let Sam know you're back. It could be she's heard the news and is worried about you. I will wait." _Good thinking, Doc_.

Instead of going out to Sam's desk, where he might be observed, Malcolm called her from his desk phone.

"Malcolm?"

"Yes, Luv. Wanted to let you know I'm back."

"Has Jamie been in touch?" Her voice was full of tension.

"Aye."

"Did he fill you in on what happened? How are you?"

"Better than I was. I'm on the phone with Jacobs. You can come in, if you want."

"I will be in straight away." Malc disconnected the call and picked up his Blackberry.

"Jacobs, did you catch that? I've invited Sam in." Just then Sam entered, shutting the door behind her.

"Yes, I did. Good idea." Malcolm put the call on speaker.

"Okay, Doc, Sam is here and you're on speaker."

Sam moved one of his visitor chairs beside his. She clasped his hand when she sat down. _Thank you, Luv._

"Great. Hello, Sam."

"Hi."

"Malcolm, under normal circumstances I would tell you to go home or come right here, but I know that's not possible."

"You've got that right."

"And given the circumstances, I would offer to come there, but I know you wouldn't want to risk anyone making the connexion between you and a counsellor."

Malcolm was surprised by the suggestion. It never occurred to him that Jacobs might be willing to come to him. While Jacobs was right and he did not want to run the risk, Malcolm was touched by the offer. His surprisingly high level of trust in the counsellor grew a bit more.

"Right again," he said.

"So how about we talk about what worries you most about the press conference and come up with some tactics you can use to get through it?"

Malcolm took a deep breath and let it out. He saw his sat was now at 95%. Between Jacobs and Sam, he felt so much better already.

"Well, I'm worried that I will lose it on camera. They're going to try to get me to answer tough questions. The press can get pretty raunchy. They will ask if I was sexually abused. They will ask if I knew what my Da was doing with those boys. They might ask something completely off the wall that takes me by surprise. I will have a script, and I need to stick to the script and not get pulled off course." Malcolm reconsidered his answer.

"But really, I'm most worried that someone will say something that sends me into another one of those flashbacks."

"If it were me, I'd be scared about that, too." _Damn right_ , Malcolm thought. Sam squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

"So you have a script. I imagine Jamie will be there?"

"Yes. He will kick things off and then hand it over to me. He will tell them that I have a statement, and will not be taking questions. That will help some, but they will still get their questions out there."

"So do you already have your statement prepared? Is it something you will read to them, or do you memorise the statement?"

"A little of both. Jamie drafted it. I will run through it until I'm comfortable with it, but I will also have it on paper and can refer to it. It looks better if I don't have to look down."

Malcolm had yet to read the statement Jamie sent him, and planned to do that as soon as they ended the call. He'd never had someone else draft his own communications before, and had bristled slightly when he'd first seen it in his In Box. Did Jamie think he was unfit? Well, possibly, given recent events.

From his conversation with the dumb fuck on the ride back to the office, he knew Jamie thought he was protecting him. But Malcolm might have a different idea of how he wanted the press conference to go, and had every intention of tweaking the script if it did not feel right.

"Great. I won't tell you how to prepare for the press event. You are a professional and this is your specialty, not mine. The fact that you have a script, whether you reference it or not, is a good thing. You can use the script as an anchor without even looking at it."

That sounded like an introduction to more psycho-babble mumbo-jumbo to Malcolm, but he did his best to reserve judgment.

"What does that mean?"

"If you start feeling emotional, instead of getting lost in the emotion, you can focus your attention on the way the paper feels. Maybe you could hold a corner of it, or just have a hand touching it. The feeling of the paper is a reminder that what you're going through is temporary, and you have control of what they get out of you. You don't have to answer any of their questions. It's very much like what we did with your breathing, only you're using a tangible object to centre yourself."

Malcolm considered that idea. It wasn't very different from techniques he'd given ministers in the past to help them stay on point in front of a camera. That worked well when the subject of the attention was anyone but Nicola Murray, whose signature seemed to be imperfection, like an Amish quilt. Perhaps it would work now that the focus was on him.

"Thanks, Doc. I can do that."

"So, Jamie will be there. Will he also wrap things up after you give your statement?"

"Yes."

"Sam, will you be there, too?"

"Yes. Absolutely." She rubbed his arm.

"Can you make sure you are somewhere that Malcolm can see you, no matter what?" A mascara-laden tear escaped. Sam wiped it away. Malcolm produced and handed her his handkerchief.

"Absolutely. I will work with Jamie to make sure that happens."

"Great. So Malcolm, you probably know where this is going. When you are giving your statement, give it to Sam. Don't worry about the cameras and journalists. Just talk to her." That got a few more tears out of Sam and caused a lump to form in Malcolm's throat.

"I can do that."

"And Sam, if you notice that Malcolm is getting hooked by anything that comes up – a question from a journalist, for instance, I would like you to tug on your right earlobe. That will be a reminder for Malcolm that he is in control and doesn't have to get side-tracked."

"Sure. Anything I can do to help."

"Malcolm, how are you feeling now?" That got a smile out of Malcolm. He wished he had his little feelings chart so he could pick out some really exotic one to describe his current state. _Need to show that to Sam tonight. The other pamphlets, too_ , he thought.

"Better. Thanks, Doc. I'm still nervous about it, but I don't feel like I'm doomed or the world is ending. We'll get through this." He squeezed Sam's hand. She squeezed back.

"Terrific! I will call you tonight to check in before your surgery and to hear how it went. If there's nothing else, I will let you go. I am confident you will be fine, Malcolm. Jamie and Sam are there for you, and so am I."

They said goodbye and ended the call. Sam gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Thanks for having me in, Malcolm. I love you. He's right, you know. Jamie and I are here for you and you're going to do fine."

He accepted her hug. Sam held him for a long time. After she left, Malcolm looked at his watch. 13:00. Three more hours until the press conference. This would all be behind him by 17:00. He breathed deeply again and checked his saturation. 98%. He took off the oxygen and opened his laptop. Time to take a look at that drafted statement from Jamie.


	81. Chapter 81

**Author's Notes**

Here's the next installment. It's still Thursday in Reshuffle land. Reviews are always appreciated!

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"Nicola, come out here - you need to see this. The shit's hitting the fan for Malcolm."

Nicola entered the open office area to see everyone gathered around the telly. Leave it to Terri to raise the alarm.

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

"We've just learned that Malcolm Tucker has been linked to a series of child disappearances that went on in Glasgow over forty years ago."

Nicola's stomach did an unpleasant roll. Glen grasped Robyn's shoulder in his excitement when an image of a man who looked like a meaner, poorer, hairier version of Malcolm showed on screen next to Malcolm's standard press picture.

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

"The disappearances were never explained until just now. Police Strathclyde had a break in the case recently, which led to the identification of Alistair Tucker, father of our very own Malcolm Tucker, Director of Communications for Number Ten, as the perpetrator of three murders and twelve additional disappearances."

"His – _father_?" Robyn and Terri said in unison.

 **GEORGE ALAGIA:**

"Here is the official statement about the break in the case from Bruce Douglas, Detective Inspector of Police Strathclyde."

 **BRUCE DOUGLAS:**

"We received an anonymous tip that led to new leads in a series of child disappearances that occurred between 1967 and 1973. Our investigative team, led by Detective Constable Jennifer MacFarland, reviewed the archived records and evidence and performed additional interviews with the parents of the missing children and other persons of interest.

"As a result of this effort, we've uncovered evidence that was previously overlooked. This evidence includes genetic material the forensics team has since linked to several of the missing children, and the person we believe to be the perpetrator of these crimes. That individual is Alistair Tucker, who was convicted in 1973 of the murder of his youngest son.

"This evidence conclusively ties Tucker to the three murdered children, and also many of the missing children whose whereabouts are still unknown. There was a sexual element to the crimes. We are not hopeful that any of the missing boys are alive. No additional remains have been recovered. Thank you - that is all."

"He'll have to step down. It's the end of the reign of terror. Never thought I'd live to see the day." Glen said brightly to the room in general.

Coverly nodded in agreement. "Just desserts, that's what I call it."

 _That tears it._ Nicola summoned her lady bollocks.

"Get stuffed,Terri. You too, Glenn. I can't believe you. How can you make light of something so awful!"

Glen turned away, headed back toward his desk. "Just because you're trying to start a Malcolm Tucker fan club." Perhaps he didn't intend for Nicola to hear that. But then again, perhaps he did. Her cheeks burned with anger.

"And let me remind you – _Glen Cullen_ – you work for me. So if I'm in the fan club, maybe instead of maligning me, you should take a fresh look at things and consider joining. Otherwise, perhaps you should be looking for other opportunities."

There. It was out. She felt immediately terrified and relieved. Nicola wished she'd said it differently, but things had been coming to a head for a while with Glen.

He froze for a few seconds, as if taking it in, and then proceeded slowly back to his desk.

Nicola checked for Terri's reaction, but the public servant was back at her desk, pretending nothing had happened.

Robyn turned off the telly, looking stiff and awkward.

"Perhaps I'll fetch some tea for everybody." She avoided eye contact as she left the office area.

Wait – someone was missing. _Ollie._ Now where did he get off to?

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"Are you watching BBC News?"

"Yeah, we caught the whole thing. Can you believe it?"

Ollie was in the small hoteling office around the corner from the DoSAC office area, on the phone with Emma.

"Did Mannion see it, too? What about Stewart?"

"Phil texted us about it, and then we tuned in."

 _Shit. That fucking twerp._

"Well, you're not going to try to use this, are you?"

"Ollie, are you kidding? Mannion nearly sprayed his shorts. Phil and Stewart are working out a campaign at the white board as we speak."

Ollie had nothing to say to that.

"Ollie, I know you feel differently about Malcolm now that you're in his fucked up scouts program and all, but this is fair game. It's public now. Stewart's going to tie it back to the PM. It's not personal. Its leverage."

Ollie sighed. "I can't believe you're okay with that. Don't you feel even remotely, I dunno, horrible about it? Emma, Malcolm had nothing to do with all this. He was a fucking kid, for Christ's sake."

"I know Ollie. And I do feel badly for him. Really. I just also know that the fact that his father is a murderer and a perve raises serious questions about Malcolm's character and reliability. I'm sorry. Look, I'll do what I can to talk them out of it, but I don't think it's likely to change anything."

"Well. If you use it, I hope you can live with yourself."

Ollie ended the call. He stood and paced the small office a few times, then called McDonald. Jamie answered on the first ring.

"Ollie, is it urgent? I'm a bit busy fighting a shit storm here."

"I know, Jamie. Look, I saw the BBC coverage and I just called Emma Messenger. She says the Opposition is planning to use this to raise concerns about Malcolm's character and how that reflects on the PM."

"Fucking hell. Even though it's Peter Mannion, I canna believe they would stoop so low." Jamie sounded more despondent than angry.

"She said she'd do what she can to talk them out of it, but no promises."

"Okay. Thanks, Ollie."

"Jamie, is there anything I can do? How's Malcolm?"

"We're doing a press conference in a few hours. He's doing okay, all things considered. I wouldn't bug him now, though. Just keep your ears open. If you hear of any more swirl about it, let me know."

"Will do. Good luck." Ollie ended the call. _Sorry, Malcolm._

He exited the hoteling office and headed back to the DoSAC area, contemplating the nature of Komodo Dragons.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **ARCHIBALD MONROE:**

 _[Facing camera] "_ I am here today at the Maryhill office of Police Strathclyde with Mrs. Fiona Clatcher. Mrs. Clatcher came down today to hear the official statement from Bruce Douglas, Detective Inspector of Police Strathclyde, about recent developments in the investigation into her son, Colin Clatcher's disappearance back in 1967.

"Colin was just two years old when he mysteriously disappeared from the yard behind the Clatcher's apartment building in Maryhill. Sadly, he was one of fifteen boys between the ages of two and five who disappeared under similar circumstances between 1967 and 1973. At the time, investigators pursued all available leads and interviewed a number of persons of interest, but were unable to discover what happened or the whereabouts of many of the boys.

"Three of the missing children were later found dead not far from the location where Colin disappeared. In 1973, the disappearances stopped. After exhausting all available leads, the investigators considered it a cold case and the investigation ceased.

"Just recently, an anonymous tipster provided information that led to a new line of inquiry about one individual who was a person of interest back in the seventies: Alistair Tucker. Tucker was convicted of the willful murder of his youngest child, Duncan, in 1973.

"Recent discovery of DNA evidence has now linked Tucker to articles of clothing worn by young Colin Clatcher on the day of his disappearance. As we heard in Douglas' statement, Police Strathclyde now has forensic evidence connecting Alistair Tucker to many of the other missing children. At this time, we do not know what the new evidence is, or how it came to light."

 _[Facing_ _ **FIONA CLATCHER**_ _]_ "Fiona, this is a big day for you. After forty years, you finally have the name of the person responsible for the disappearance of your son, Colin."

 **FIONA CLATCHER:**

 _[Wipes nose with a tissue, distraught]_ "It's all very overwhelming, Archie. Even though it's been over forty years since I lost Colin, it's like it happened yesterday. I wish my husband, Brodie, were here with me today. We still really don't know what happened to him, but given that three of the other boys were murdered, we can only assume our poor Colin met a similar fate."

 **ARCHIBALD MONROE:**

"I canna imagine how difficult it's been for you over the years. I understand that you have recently reunited with the parents of some of the other boys who went missing."

 **FIONA CLATCHER:**

"When I first heard from inspector Douglas that there was a break in the case I immediately called all of the other parents of missing children I've stayed in touch with. Back in the seventies while the disappearances were still going on, we formed sort of a support group for other parents in our same situation. We got organised and did everything we could to keep the investigation active and in the news.

"A few years after the disappearances stopped, the case got shelved. A few of the families moved away. Those of us who stayed continued to reach out to the Maryhill office for any news, but there never was any. The world moved on for everyone else, I suppose. Since this new lead came in, though, we've reunited."

 **ARCHIBALD MONROE:**

"So, the man whose DNA was identified was Alistair Tucker, who I understand was a neighbour of yours."

 **FIONA CLATCHER:**

"Yes, I remember Alistair. I remember the whole Tucker family. I knew Malcolm when he was a wee bairn. You know, Malcolm is some high up muckety muck down in London now. Watched him and his sister, Julia, when their Mum was working. Poor Duncan too, when he came along, though by then my Colin was already gone. Alistair was in the bottle much of the time."

 **ARCHIBALD MONROE:**

"Tell me about Alistair."

 **FIONA CLATCHER:**

"He didna have much to say to his neighbours, that's for sure, especially after was arrested in a bar fight. Lydia would talk to me sometimes about his drinking. I asked her once if Alistair ever hit her or the kids, but she denied it. But I could hear him at night, yelling at the children. I knew he was rough with Malcolm – saw bruises all the time on that one and asked him about them, but he would never say where he got them."

 **ARCHIBALD MONROE:**

"Earlier, you told me that you told the police you suspected Alistair of taking Colin. What made you think he might have had something to do with it?"

 **FIONA CLATCHER:**

"I saw him that morning. He was a caretaker and also did odd jobs around the place, fixing things, and such. He'd been by to return a repaired toaster to the couple that lived next door to us. Later that morning, I was out hanging the wash. Colin was playing between the sheets I'd already hung, as he often did. Then, I noticed he was gone. I looked everywhere. Alistair was the only other soul I'd seen that morning, coming in and out of his workshop.

"When the police finally came out I told them I had seen Alistair Tucker about an hour before Colin went missing. They told me they would look into it, but I don't think anything came of it."

 **ARCHIBALD MONROE:**

"I'm sure this is a very emotional time for you and the other parents of missing children. Did today's press announcement give you a sense of closure?"

 **FIONA CLATCHER:**

 _[Emotional]_ "Archie, I don't think anything could ever give me a sense of closure. When they showed me Colin's wee jumper to have me identify it, _[Crying]_ when I saw all the blood on it, I knew he was really gone. All these years, I told myself to just grieve and get on with it. But I couldn't. Now I guess I'll have to. If that Alistair Tucker was still alive, I'd scratch his eyes out. I suppose now all I can do is go spit on his grave. The bastard."

 **ARCHIBALD MONROE:**

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Clatcher, and my deepest condolences. [ _Facing camera_ ] We'll go to an advert now, and then return to our regular programming."

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 _Well, fuck me, Fiona. Thanks so much for that._

It was odd, seeing Mrs. Clatcher after all these years. Though she was shriveled and ancient looking, Malcolm still recognised her eyes and voice. It was eerie.

While his desk phone was on forward and his Blackberry was powered off, as Jamie suggested, Malcolm couldn't not watch the coverage. _You were right, Jamie, it's not what we'd hoped for. Not even close._ It really was all out there now, and they had very little control over how things played out from here.

The PM had called from a limo en route to the White House in Washington, DC to express his continued support. It meant a lot to Malcolm that he took the trouble to call, rather than leave it up to Nicholson to convey. While he was sure the old prude actually meant it, too, Malcolm also knew that sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

Malcolm thought back through the chain of events that got him to this place. If he'd handled things differently with Sam when he first told her about his time in the shed and Colin Clatcher, was there anything he could have done differently that would have changed the outcome? Perhaps not.

Maybe if he'd handled things differently with Ollie during the meeting where he collapsed and was taken to hospital, Reeder wouldn't have leaked his collapse to the press, which led to Jamie getting rough with him, which led to Ollie digging up the old stories and sharing them around. But, then again, down the road a bit Ollie might have found another reason to dig up dirt, and they would have ended up in the same place.

Could a different approach with Jamie have changed things in such a way that Steve Fleming never sent the stories to the press? Perhaps this was karma, coming around to kick him in the teeth for bad acts in a past life. Malcolm felt as if he was being propelled on a powerful current toward a fixed point in time and space that was both terrible and destined.

"Fuck it," he said aloud, turning back to his laptop, where the press statement Jamie drafted was queued up on screen, cursor flashing. "Only the fucking present has potential."

Malcolm went to work.


	82. Chapter 82

**TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

The media turnout was quite large.

Jamie had managed to procure the State Dining Room at Number Ten for the press event. The din of the assembled media bounced off the cathedral ceiling and reached out to them as Malcolm made his way down the hall beside Jamie. Malcolm breathed deeply through the cannula and tried to think calm thoughts. This really was inevitable, and for the best. That didn't make it any less terrifying.

He had done his nebuliser treatment later than usual and opted to keep the oxygen on until they reached the venue to have the best possible chance of getting through it without the oxygen. He had wanted to leave the oxygen cart back in his office, but Sam quickly vetoed that idea. Sam wasn't the only person he'd pissed off this afternoon.

"What do you mean you donna want to run lines? What the _fuck_ , Malcolm!" That had been Jamie's reaction when Malcolm told him he felt he was ready and did not want to practise in the few remaining minutes before the press conference.

"Really, Jamie, I think I'll be better at this cold." Malcolm knew he'd get pushback. In his experience, when a minister went in front of the press without practising with someone first it was usually a fucking shambles. In Nicola's case, it was an omnishambles. Jamie stared at him disbelievingly.

"Look, if you want to change the script, that's fine, Malc, but let me help you." Malcolm knew that would be the worst possible idea.

"No, I'm good. Really." The penny dropped.

"You're going to go in there and do something stupid, aren't you." Malcolm had nothing to say to that. Maybe he should have gotten cross with Jamie. Maybe if he'd yelled a little Jamie wouldn't have made the leap.

"Malcolm, don't do this. _Please_."

"Jamie, you've got to trust me on this one. It's my life. It's what I've got to do." They went back and forth a little more, but eventually Jamie gave up.

As expected, the room was crowded. The animated conversation among the journalists, correspondents and camera crews, simmered down as Malcolm and Jamie made their entrance, and went silent when Jamie approached the podium. _All this for little old me. Holy fuck_ , he mused. His mouth was very dry.

Malcolm stood near the wall to the back and right of the podium. The fluorescent studio lights for the cameras washed the podium area, turning the traditionally dark intimacy of the room into the stark reality of a crime scene.

It was hot under the lights. The glare hurt his eyes. He recognised many of the journalists he had worked with in one capacity or another over the last twenty years. Simon Hewitt was there, no doubt he was practically salivating over the chance to finally eviscerate Malcolm Tucker. Angela Heaney smiled brightly at him when their eyes met. Malcolm saw that bint from _The Mirror_ whose name he could never remember. He even recognised that blogger guy who accosted him on his way into the house just a few days ago. Evan Amesley, he recalled. Maybe this would be Evan's big break.

Malcolm felt his breathing pick up. His mind flashed back again to that dreadful walk from the flat to the police car when he was fourteen. Then he saw Sam in the audience, front and center. She smiled when she saw he'd noticed her and tugged on her earlobe. Something loosened in his chest and he smiled back. He clasped the printed copy of his prepared statement tightly, forcing himself to feel the grain of the paper between his fingers. _This will be over soon. Make the best of it._

"We called this press conference in response to some elevated attention about a recent investigation by Police Strathclyde into a very old case in Glasgow. We've received numerous calls from media asking to confirm details connecting Malcolm Tucker to that investigation. While this matter has nothing to do with politics or Malcolm's role in the Labour Party or in Number Ten, we felt it best to issue a statement to the media to put the matter to rest.

"At this time, I will turn things over to Malcolm, who will read a prepared statement. He will not be taking questions. Thank you."

Malcolm breathed slowly and deeply, checked his oxygen saturation, and nodded slightly to Sam before approaching the podium, script in hand.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

He looked relaxed and composed, which Sam knew wasn't true. She could tell he was self-conscious about the oxygen cart, but there was no getting around it.

Jamie actually looked more nervous than Malcolm did. She could see the shine of perspiration on his brow under the lights. He stood off to the side as Malcolm took the podium, script in hand.

Malcolm looked up, made eye contact with Sam, and began.

"I want to acknowledge the hard work of Police Strathclyde in their efforts on the case of fifteen boys who went missing in Glasgow in the late sixties and early seventies, twelve of whom were never recovered. I think it is admirable that the Scottish police and our very own Metropolitan police force are so well organised and dedicated to the service to justice and the families of the missing."

He paused and looked down briefly at the script. A few flashes from photographic cameras went off, capturing his profile. When he looked up again and found Sam in the audience she could see some strong emotion coming through in his expression, but didn't know what it was.

"I wanted to confirm that my father, Alistair Tucker, was involved in the disappearances. As a child I witnessed certain things and did not come forward because I feared for my life."

Jamie jerked with surprise and looked pointedly at Malcolm. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

"After my father was arrested in 1974 for the murder of my brother, Duncan, I could have come forward then, but again, I didn't.

"Finally, forty years later, it took a series of events to get me to report what I witnessed. I do not offer any further details on that, other than to say that I am cooperating with the investigation.

"I wish to convey my profound apologies to Fiona Clatcher and the parents of the other missing children. I am so sorry you had to wait all of this time to find out what happened to your sons.

"To those of you who are here to report the news, in this case the message I urge you to convey is one of vigilance. While the crimes my father perpetrated on these innocents happened over forty years ago, please don't assume that bad things don't happen to children any more, because they do.

"I think it's sad that the media only gets interested in cases like this when the name of a public figure is attached to them. The welfare of children is paramount, and foundational to our society, yet terrible things happen to children every day and go unnoticed.

"Our Prime Minister seeks to bring about the types of social reform that will lessen the chances that children will be treated in such a fashion by providing the resources and community programs that support families. Perhaps that is a more worthy topic of media attention, but that is a conversation for another day."

Now Jamie was in an animated side-conversation with Julius, who had flagged him over.

"Now that it is known that my father committed these horrible crimes, my character has come into question. I stand before you today the same person I've always been. I leave it to you to judge my credibility."

Jamie finished his conversation with Julius and moved to stand to Malcolm's right at the podium. Sam surmised he wanted to cut Malcolm off. Malcolm ignored him.

"I ask that you, men and women of the press, do not use this new information that has come out about me to in any way malign or discredit our Prime Minister. I know you are above that. In the event that circumstances around the investigation in Glasgow cause public controversy about my role in the Labour Party or on the PM's executive committee that threatens the public's confidence in the government, I am prepared to step aside. Thank you."

The room exploded with noise as the journalists tried to get their questions out.

"Malcolm, are you resigning?"

"What was the Prime Minister's reaction? Have you spoken with him since the news came out?"

"To what degree are you involved in the investigation in Glasgow?"

Jamie pressed toward the microphone at the podium. "We're not taking questions, thank you."

Malcolm moved to answer. "I will answer one question. The one about the PM's reaction. Who asked that?"

"Me, Evan Aimsley, I'm an independent. We met earlier this week."

"I remember you, Evan Aimsley. In answer to your question, the Prime Minister expressed his irritation at the media for trying to create a scandal rather than cover the news. He was also slightly miffed that I seem to be getting more attention than he is, even with today's visit to The White House." That got some good-natured laughs.

"Malcolm – "

"Thank you for listening to my statement. We're done here. Jamie?"

Sam let go of the breath she'd been holding, relieved when Malcolm turned things over to Jamie and left the room through the door behind the podium. She hastened to meet him in the hallway.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

In the front room of his darkened flat, Steven Fleming turned off the tellie and sat back in his ageing recliner.

 _Christ, Malcolm, I had no idea._

There was no alcohol in the house. He'd pitched it all. Three days sober today. He'd been going to meetings, got a sponsor, and was beginning to face the wreckage of this latest bender, both legal and otherwise. But at this moment, he'd give anything for a drink, or any other means to immediate and permanent oblivion.

Ignoring the cacophony from the committee in his head telling him he had every right to go get pissed, Fleming instead picked up the ten thousand pound phone and called his sponsor.


	83. Chapter 83

**Author's Notes**

Happy Holidays, and wishing you the best for 2017! I vote for getting 2016 behind us in sharp order. Here is Chapter 83 for your reading pleasure, with 84 in the works. Thanks so much for sticking with this story.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking?" Those were Jamie's first words when he confronted Malcolm in his office as Malcolm was packing up his laptop to go home. Sam was pulling the car up to the back door to avoid any potential press ambush.

"Jamie, calm down." Malcolm kept his voice low hoping it would cue Jamie to stop shouting.

"I wilna calm down. That was political suicide! _Jesus_ , Malcolm – you just undid a whole day's worth of effort to keep this from going tits up. And not to mention that you didna even consult Julius about those fucking community programmes you mentioned. Canna say he's pleased. That wasna supposed to come out for at least another month." The junior adviser paced energetically, obviously looking for an outlet for his frustration.

"Julius will be fine. The PM is fine with it."

"You cleared it with him, then? Well, maybe you should have _fucking_ clued us in, don't you think?" The younger man ran a hand through his hair, screwing it up into weird tufts.

Malcolm considered it. If he'd filled Jamie in on his planned approach, Jamie would never have let him do the press update. But he also understood why Jamie was so upset. "Perhaps I should have."

Jamie seemed disarmed by that admission, but recovered quickly. Clearly, he didn't want to be disarmed right now. He ran another agitated hand through his hair and turned toward the door, not meeting Malcolm's eyes.

"Look, I canna talk to you right now. You say you want me to handle the press around this. And then instead of letting me do that, you go and do as you please. Maybe you should just handle these things yourself, Malcolm."

Malcolm watched Jamie stalk out of the room and down the hall.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Malcolm accepted Sam's peck on the cheek as he got settled in the passenger seat of the car.

"Did Jamie give you a bollocking?"

"Aye. And then some." Now that they were finally headed home, Malcolm felt heavy and tired.

"He'll be back, Malcolm."

"I donna know, Sam. He's pretty pissed."

"He cares about you."

"Did you think what I did was wrong?" Sam clasped his hand and gave it a warm squeeze.

"I thought it was kind. And very, very brave."

"And risky." Malcolm knew this could be the end of his career. At the same time, he felt almost shaky with relief as they pulled away from the curb. He observed Sam's thoughtful expression as she kept her eyes on the road.

"Yes, perhaps risky, too."

She didn't elaborate. They rode home in silence.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Malcolm and Sam ate early to accommodate the pre-operative fasting instructions. Jacobs called after dinner. Malcolm took the call in the guest room.

"Did you see the press conference?" Malcolm asked without even a hello. He was anxious to get the counsellor's reaction.

"I did. Am I right that this isn't typically how these things go?"

"No, you're right. I was supposed to just confirm that my father is implicated in the investigation and say that I am cooperating with the police."

"But you had a different message to convey."

Malcolm sighed. "Yes. Do you think I went too far?" After several hours, the endorphin high from getting through the press event had waned a bit, leaving Malcolm wondering if he had unnecessarily trashed his career.

"What do _you_ think?" _Fuck. That's right. This is the guy with no answers._

"I think I might have just gone and done something really stupid. But I feel good about what I said to those families." Jacobs let several seconds tick by before answering.

"I think you did something very important. No matter what happens with those families or your job, Malcolm, hang on to that good feeling. You told me about the shame you've carried for not coming forward when you were a kid. I wouldn't be surprised if you feel less of that in the future." Malcolm stored that away for later inspection.

"So, are you ready for your surgery tomorrow?"

"As ready as I can be, I suspect. We have to be there at 7:00 tomorrow morning."

"What time is the procedure?"

"Eight."

"Is Doctor Rahman doing it?" It took a moment for Malcolm to remember that Doctor Ravi had a last name.

"No. He'll be assisting, but it's some surgeon who's had a lot of experience with the type of scarring I have."

"Well, I will keep you in my thoughts tomorrow morning. If it's alright with you, I would like to call Sam to check in on you afterwards."

"Sure," Malcolm said, even as he registered surprise that Jacobs would do something like that.

They said their goodbyes and rang off. On the way out of the guest bedroom, Malcolm gathered up the pamphlets from the top of the dresser and brought them with him.


	84. Chapter 84

**TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"I dunno, man, it's not my day to watch him." Jamie split his attention between his mobile, on which he was having a spikey conversation with Geoffrey at _The Guardian_ , and the morning papers, which were spread across his cluttered desk.

"Seriously, Geoffrey, did you expect him to be taking calls after the press conference?" Jamie tried to sound unemotional.

"Jamie, I just want to know how he is. You and I know more about him than anyone, save for Sam and his sister. He still doesn't look well, and I imagine he had a tough afternoon yesterday after the press conference."

Jamie struggled to suppress a sharp flash of anger. "Well, I havna talked to him either. If you left a message, I'm sure he'll get back to you once things settle down. I've gotta go handle this shit storm. Later." Jamie ended the call and ignored the voice message alert light on his phone.

He actually hadn't done much to manage the shit storm. After his post-press event shout at Malcolm he left the office and headed home. Like Malcolm, apparently, Jamie had shut off his mobile. He was still too angry with Malcolm to handle things well. Instead, he and Bev watched bad sitcoms until it was time for bed.

On a good day, he might have admitted his deeper motive for the inaction was to teach the old bastard a lesson about what happens when you stop thinking like a spin-doctor and try to save the world. So far, today wasn't a good day. Though he sensed he would listen to those messages soon and power on his Blackberry to see what awaited him, he wasn't quite there yet.

Opening the papers was a good start to getting plugged back in. Malcolm's press announcement made the front page of each of the big three. _The Guardian_ had a nice profile shot of Malcolm, his expression solemn and eyes cast downward at the podium. Jamie felt his heart soften a little. He had a sip of coffee and started reading.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

3 New voice messages:

 **DAN MILLER: "** Wow, Malc – what can I say? I hope you know you have my fullest support. Best of luck tomorrow."

 **JULIUS NICHOLSON: "** Well, old man, I admit I was a bit baffled at the press conference, but the PM has caught me up on things. No hard feelings, hey? I hope your procedure goes well and you get a clean bill of health. I will check in on you later."

 **GEOFFREY SULLIVAN: "** Malcolm, I bet your mobile is turned off. Listen, if I haven't told you lately, you've got some cojones, my friend. I hope you like the write-up – front page, of course.

Look, if worse comes to worst, we'd love it if you came back to _The Guardian_. Seriously. You could either get back on the editorial staff or be an executive consultant. Give me a call."

 **NICOLA MURRAY:** _[Sound of sniffling, a hesitation, call ends]_

Unread texts on Malcolm's Blackberry:

 **OLIVER REEDER:** Sorry ur going through this. LMK what I can do to help.

 **SIMON TUCKER:** Hope all goes well today, Uncle Malc! Mum will call u tonight.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Sam paid for her coffee and headed back to pre-operative care. She didn't really want the coffee, but Malcolm urged her to go to the café while the nurse and orderly prepared him for the biopsy.

Sam suspected that he either did not want her there when the nurse inserted the urinary catheter, or perhaps wanted to give her a way to avoid watching when they put the IV back into his arm. She'd always been a coward about needles, and the incident where Malcolm's IV port came out of his arm just made it worse.

They had arrived at Saint Thomas's a bit earlier than needed, but the attendant got them through the intake process and into a bed in pre-operative care right away. Sam knew Malcolm was probably tired. He'd slept fitfully most of the night. She didn't think he had the really bad nightmare, but whatever he dreamed about wasn't pleasant.

His Blackberry was safely in the inner pocket of her handbag. On the way home from the office Thursday afternoon, Sam had suggested that they both turn off their mobiles. Sam would call family and close friends with updates after the procedure was behind them, and there was no need for either of them to be distracted by any political swirl the night before his biopsy. Surprisingly, Malcolm agreed wholeheartedly, and readily surrendered his device.

Once home, they prepared and ate dinner, and talked only of mundane things. Doctor Jacobs called on their landline right as they were clearing the table. Malc excused himself to take the call in the guest bedroom.

Sam was both relieved and anxious when he joined her in the living room after the call bearing the stack of pamphlets she'd found in his coat pocket. He sat next to her on the sofa and set them on the table. He paused for a moment before meeting her eyes. She saw he was nervous and clasped his hand. He swallowed hard.

"At my last appointment, Jacobs gave me some literature. I haven't read through it yet. I thought maybe we could look at it together." He risked a quick scan of her face, trying to read her reaction.

"Of course, Malc. I found them in your pocket and put them on the dresser the other night, but I didn't read them." He seemed to relax a little at that, though he still seemed guarded.

"What are they about?" He reached out and picked up the pamphlet at the top of the stack. He kept his eyes cautiously away from Sam's.

"Jacobs says I have post-traumatic stress disorder because of everything my father did. He says the pamphlets are for people who've been through – different types of abuse."

"Well, that sounds helpful." Sam felt the same way she had when Malcolm first told her about the abuse – like she was walking through a minefield. His eyes stayed riveted to the front of the pamphlet he was holding.

"Jacobs wants me to go into treatment as soon as I'm healed up from the biopsy." Sam's eyes welled up and overflowed. _Thank God_ , she thought. She wasn't sure what to say, or whether she trusted her voice.

"I told him definitely not. But he said to talk it over with you." They sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, Malcolm asked, "Do you have anything to say to that?" _Poor dear. He's scared shitless._

She sniffled and leaned into him, rubbing his arm. The muscles underneath his suit coat felt as tight as piano wire.

"I'm glad you decided to talk about it. You know I love you, and I support you in whatever you decide."

"You think I should do it."

"I didn't say that, Malc. I don't even know what the treatment is for, or how it works. I do think it would be good to keep an open mind and find out more about it." Again, he studied her face, as if he had to make sure he saw no judgment there. Her heart broke for him.

The first pamphlet was a general overview to PTSD. Sam read each section aloud and had Malcolm take the self-test at the end, ticking off the symptoms he'd experienced. He got ten out of ten.

The remaining pamphlets were about recovering from child abuse. One was specifically focussed on sexual abuse. They read through the lot together. It was too much to take in, and by the time they got to the last panel of the sexual abuse pamphlet they were both emotionally wrung out. Rather than go to bed thinking of such a heartbreaking subject, they watched a movie on tellie until they were both nodding off.

Sam slipped the pamphlets into her handbag before joining Malcolm in the guest room. She planned to read through them again while she waited for Malcolm during the biopsy.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Back in the pre-operative care area, Sam found Malcolm's cubicle and slipped between the curtains. Malcolm was alone and appeared to be dozing on the trolley. The IV port was in his arm. He wore an oxygen cannula and a paper cap that covered his hair. The pulse-oximeter was on his right index finger. A urine collection bag hung from the lower frame of the trolley.

Sam pulled the visitor chair a little closer to the bed and sat down. She pressed a hand to his chest. "Malcolm, I'm back."

His blue eyes cracked open. His pupils were huge. It took a moment for him to form words.

"Hello, beautiful. Missed you." Sam smiled back at him.

"I missed you too, Luv. Did they give you something? You look a little stoned." The dopey grin she got in response confirmed her suspicions.

"Valium. Nice. Stuff." _Oh Malcolm. I would love to record you right now, but I won't because I am kind._ Sam suppressed a giggle, and instead smiled warmly, rubbing his arm. She liked the way his eyes crinkled up with pleasure at the contact.

"Did they say what time they'll come to get you?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

"I don't remember."

"It's fine, Malc." His eyes slid closed again. She thought he was drifting off, but then he opened them again and gave her a wolfish smile.

"Hey, you're really hot. Wanna get up here with me? We could fool around."

"That's sweet of you, Malc, but I don't want to crowd you with those needles and things. Let's just hold hands. Okay?"

"Okay." A few moments ticked by. Malcolm's eyes slid shut again, but he dragged them open again.

"Don't fight it, Luv. It's okay. Just have a nap."

"Sam, I had Barney update my will. Just in case." Sam's heart stuttered in her chest.

"What? Malcolm, that's silly. Don't think that way."

"Just in case. It's in the top drawer of my desk." He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. A tear slipped out and rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with her free hand.

"I love you, Sam."

"I love you, Malc." This time, he really did go to sleep. The orderlies came and got him five minutes later.


	85. Chapter 85

**TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **Top stories from Friday, 25 November**

 _Daily Mail_

 _ **Chief enforcer and social programmes**_ _– Opening the dialogue on child welfare_

Angela Heaney, Junior Political Correspondent

 _The Guardian_

 _ **Labour's position on child welfare**_ _– Tucker's transparency turns scandal into a force for good_

Geoffrey Sullivan, Editor-n-Chief

 _The Mirror_

 _ **Labour needs a true leader**_ _– Three reasons for a change at Number Ten_

Simon Hewitt, Metro Journalist

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **MALCOLM:** "Look, I know you're still mad, and that's okay. I understand. Thanks for taking care of things while I'm out. I will give you a call tonight or tomorrow morning."

Jamie opened up the Friday morning communications team meeting in Malcolm's office. As expected, the team wanted to discuss Malcolm's press event and the fallout.

He'd read the write ups in the big three in advance of the meeting. All were cautiously favourable, each in their own way, and didn't go too far down the path of speculating whether there would be a change in the Director role.

His office voice mail had a number of calls from journalists, editors, and an array of ministers, many of whom had tried reaching Malcolm first. The media were largely asking for a statement from the PM, who was expected back at Number Ten later in the day after a brief visit with the Canadian Prime Minister in Ottawa on his return journey from Washington DC. Jamie had not heard anything from the PM, and Julius hadn't responded to his texts and voice messages asking to meet and regroup.

Given his lack of information about Malcolm, the PM, or what was going to happen next, he kept things short and used the time to get reports from each person on the team from his or her respective ministry. The general mood was tense, to be sure, as if everyone saw the elephant in the middle of the room and no one wanted to be the first to call it out.

He went to the PFI building and met briefly with each of the new ministers. Each of them asked about Malcolm right away. By the time Jamie finished with the last one, he headed gratefully back to Number Ten, hoping to get time with Julius.

By the time he was back at the office it was 10 AM. By now, Malcolm would likely be out of surgery and hopefully heading home soon.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

The two hours Sam spent in the waiting room during Malcolm's biopsy felt more like eight. During the wait she revisited the brochures from doctor Jacobs, making note of several websites and support groups she wanted to look into further over the weekend. She also used the time to catch up on email and return a few phone calls.

Surprisingly, the PM called her personally with well wishes for Malcolm and expressed his support. Sam was very touched. The PM had never spoken directly to her before. Although she only worked one floor below his office, Sam had never had more than passing contact with him since he'd assumed the mantle of leadership.

Sue called as Sam was leafing through the brochures from Jacobs. She offered to bring a casserole over for dinner so that Sam didn't have to cook. While Sam normally would have thanked her but declined the offer, this time Sam accepted it.

It had been a long week, and she looked forward to having the biopsy behind them. While she worried about what the news might be, it would be good to have more information and a better idea of what the future held.

Between the biopsy and the culmination of events in the investigation that led up to Thursday's press conference, it felt like perhaps they had reached a point where they could move on into whatever came next. Whether that future meant Malcolm was out of Number Ten, in treatment for PTSD, undergoing additional medical procedures for his lungs, or some combination of the above, Sam hoped they could get some answers and make the best of whatever lay ahead.

Sam had not listened to or read any news coverage since they left the office Thursday afternoon. While she worried, and wanted to know what was going on, she was sure Jamie was on top of things and would let her know if anything needed her attention. Right now, her entire focus was on Malcolm.

At 9:30, just as Sam moved to the rack of available magazines in the waiting area, Jacobs himself popped in to say hello and see if there was any word yet on Malcolm. While Sam knew his office was just upstairs, she thought it extremely thoughtful and kind for the counsellor to remember and make a point of checking in person.

He only stayed for a minute or two, but it lifted her mood considerably and helped her get through the remaining time before Doctor Ravi appeared in the hallway, spied her in the waiting area, and headed her way. She stood to meet him, trying to read his body language.

"How's Malcolm?" the doctor smiled. Sam felt a huge weight roll off her shoulders.

"He's on his way to the Recovery area now. Everything went well, and he should be awake soon."

"How soon will you know more about the prognosis?"

"The samples will go the lab today. Fortunately, it's right here in London. We should have results back mid-week next week. Visually, we didn't see any signs of necrosis, so I think we can be cautiously optimistic." The doctor tilted his head to the side, listening to a page over the public address system. "You can go see him in Recovery now, and I will be in once he's awake."

Sam headed in the direction Doctor Ravi indicated.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

The Recovery ward was similar in arrangement to Pre-Operative Care, with a small curtained area for each patient. Sam checked in with one of the attendants and was directed to Malcolm's bed.

He was still deeply asleep. He didn't look any different than right before they wheeled him away for the biopsy. He was still hooked up to IVs and the catheter. The cannula rested under his nose. Out of force of habit, she glanced up at his oxygen saturation, which was in the low nineties.

She worked a crossword and watched for signs of returning consciousness. After half an hour, his leg twitched under the blanket. A few minutes later, his breathing changed and he moved his head a little. Somebody was waking up.

Sam leaned in and rubbed his arm. "Malcolm, welcome back." His eyes squinted open and she smiled down at him. It took another few moments before he was fully awake.

"How are you feeling?" He cleared his throat experimentally, absently fingering the cannula under his nose. Sam held the water up so he could have a drink.

"I dunno yet. Tired. What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven." He sat up a little more. Sam helped reposition the pillow.

"What did the doc say?"

"He said it went well. He'll be in soon."

"Good." Malcolm cleared his throat again and coughed a little. Then, he pulled open the front of his gown and peered down at his chest, inspecting the small plaster covering his stitches.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, it's sort of numb. Such a small incision." Though still somewhat groggy, he definitely looked and sounded more alert.

"Have you heard from Jamie? Any news?" He coughed again and this time took the water on his own.

"No, I haven't. I also didn't listen to the news. I'm sure he'd let us know if there was anything to be concerned about. The PM called, which was nice."

"He did, did he? What did he have to say?"

"Just wishing you a speedy recovery." Malcolm grunted at that, but Sam thought he was pleased.

"Julia and the kids phoned, too. Simon wants to know if they made you do an enema first."

Malcolm laughed heartily. "Cheeky bastard! What did you tell him?"

"That he'd have to ask you." Malcolm coughed again. This time, it was a deeper cough. Afterwards, he rubbed his chest a little. His expression was turned inward.

"Malcolm?" Suddenly, all of the color drained from his face. He seemed to be having difficulty drawing a breath. An alarm sounded.

" _Malcolm?"_ He coughed a spray of bright red blood on the sheets. Now several alarms were sounding. Sam heard a commotion outside of their draped cubicle, just as Malcolm coughed up another frightening amount of blood. His eyes slid shut and he went limp.

Just as Sam shouted for help, the Recovery nurse poked her head in, sized up the situation, and shouted orders over her shoulder as she made her way to Malcolm's bedside. An orderly guided Sam to step back to make room for the doctor on call.

Within seconds they wheeled Malcolm out on the trolley at an aggressive speed. Sam heard the page for Doctor Ravi to return to the surgical area as she watched them disappear through a double set of stainless steel doors.


	86. Chapter 86

**Author's Note:**

Just a reminder to anyone still reading that I am not a medical professional or in any way affiliated with NHS. If **you** are a medical professional, please don't laugh too hard if the medical details are implausible. Thanks much! Also, reviews often make my day, and keep me plugging along.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

She called Jamie during his meeting with Julius, in which the PM's adviser was in the process of divulging very confidential, significant and surprising news. But when Jamie saw who was trying to reach him he cut Nicholson off and accepted the call. When he was met with hysterical crying, he made eye contact with Julius and stepped out into the hallway.

Once Sam was able to speak, Jamie was relieved to hear that at least Malcolm was alive, though undergoing emergency surgery. She asked him to come to the hospital. He explained the situation and made his apologies to Julius, who shooed him out the door.

On the short ride to St. Thomas's, Jamie did his best to master his reaction to Sam's call so he could be as supportive as possible. His last heated conversation with Malcolm kept replaying in his head. _I am such a shithead_ , he thought. _You'd think I would have learned my lesson with Dad._ But, as Malcolm so frequently pointed out, when anger got the upper hand, Jamie had a tendency to behave badly.

He found Sam in the surgical waiting area. She was pale and still shaking. Jamie understood why when she filled him in on what happened.

It was another hour before an attendant collected them and brought them into a patient examination room. While Jamie felt uncomfortable being included in whatever came next, from the way Sam clasped his arm and would not let go, he knew she needed someone there with her.

"Malcolm is in stable condition." Sam squeezed Jamie's arm at Doctor Ravi's pronouncement, but didn't say anything.

The doctor clipped a large film to the mounted light board and turned on the power. The light illuminated a colourful image of two lungs. The one on the right appeared to be oddly smaller than the left one, and much more colourful.

"Let me explain what happened, and then I will tell you what we did and what our options are at this point.

"When we went in for the biopsy, we used a device to remove small samples of the scar tissue in each lung." Doctor Ravi stood beside the light board and pointed out a large orange area on the right lung. "We focussed on the larger bands of scar tissue. You can see the one in the right lung, which is still intact.

"The scar tissue itself is very brittle. Malcolm sustained the injuries to his lungs when he was six, so that makes sense. When we took the samples, or shortly after that, it looks as though the largest band of scar tissue in the left lung tore. That's what caused the haemorrhage. We got the bleeding stopped and removed the scar tissue. This was a more invasive surgery, involving a larger incision into Malcolm's chest and lung."

Sam cleared her throat. "Is that what you think happened when he collapsed at the office? He coughed up blood then, too."

"I think it's likely. Our visual inspection of each lung showed evidence of tearing or breaking of the scar tissue in other areas. It's possible that Malcolm has coughed blood before and didn't notice, or didn't mention it because he did not want to worry you. The band that tore this time was the largest one in the left lung. That's why there was so much blood.

"What surprised us is what happened to Malcolm's lung as a result of the tearing." Ravi gestured to the left lung, outlining it with one finger.

"Once the band of tissue tore, the lung itself expanded. This is the scan we took just a few minutes ago. You can see the difference in the size of the left lung compared to the right one." Sam nodded.

"What does that mean, doctor?" Jamie asked.

"Well, we're not sure yet, but we think it means that Malcolm could gain significant lung capacity as a result of losing the largest band of scar tissue.

"The injury happened when he was six. A child's lungs grow as he matures. In Malcolm's case, his lungs continued to grow, but the scar tissue constrained the lung. It basically created an occlusion, or fold, that prevented normal function. When the scar tissue tore, the constrained lung was able to assume its normal shape. This case is really quite unusual. Dr. Engel is probably the most experienced surgical pulmonologist related to IPF in all of England, perhaps the entire UK, and he's never seen anything like it."

"That's – amazing. So this is good news?"

Doctor Ravi gave a cautious nod. "I think so. We do still need to decide what to do about the right lung."

"The right lung?"

"Yes. That large band of scar tissue is in the same condition as the one that tore. It's only a matter of time before that happens, which could be very serious. Possibly even fatal. My recommendation is to remove it as soon as possible."

"Can you do it now? Today?"

"I'm afraid not. While we did what we could to clean it up, the left lung is still saturated with blood. As we speak, Dr. Engel is installing a drain. It will take a few days for the lung to clear.

"Malcolm also lost a significant amount of blood. He's currently on his third unit of blood. I think it would be too risky to try to operate on the other lung today."

"What do you recommend, Doctor?" Jamie asked. He hated it when doctors said it was the family's decision when it really wasn't.

"We could do one of two things. We could close up his chest and schedule the second surgery for six weeks from now. That would give Malcolm time to heal from this surgery and get his strength back before we go in again. There are several risks with that approach."

"Basically, he's got a time bomb in his chest."

"It's true that the scar tissue could rupture at any time, and he might not be someplace where he can easily get help.

"The other option is to keep him in a chemically induced coma for the next few days, and perform the surgery as soon as his left lung is clear. We would use a special surgical film to seal the incision in his chest, rather than using sutures and surgical staples. That would reduce the additional trauma of a second incision into his chest. The sedation would prevent sudden movements that could disturb the open incision or cause further bleeding.

"Once his blood values are good and his left lung is clear, we'd go back in and remove the large band of scar tissue in his right lung. After that, we'd suture him up and remove the sedation. If all goes well, he would go home a few days after the surgery.

"There are risks with that approach, as well. Just being in hospital comes with the possibility of post-operative infection. Though we have an excellent record here at St. Thomas's, it can happen. While under sedation, Malcolm will need parenteral nutrition. We would insert a tube through his nose that goes down his throat and into his stomach and administer liquid nutrition through the tube. Even with that, he will still lose considerable weight, which he cannot spare.

"Of the two options, if my wife was in this situation, I would go the second route. Better to take care of it sooner, rather than later. At least here Malcolm is in a controlled environment, where we can monitor his blood and oxygen values and respond quickly if anything goes awry."

"How soon do you need a decision, Doc?"

"I know this is hard, but Malcolm is still in the surgery and Dr. Engel is waiting on a decision."

Sam looked imploringly at Jamie. He knew how hard this decision was, and he wished he could help, but he just couldn't.

"We'll take the second choice," Sam said. Her eyes filled and her face crumpled. "Put him in a coma."


	87. Chapter 87

**TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

At 15:00, Sam and Jamie were escorted to ICU 2. Malcolm was back in the same ward, but a different room. This time, the other bed had an occupant – the drape was drawn discretely around the second bed.

The first thing Jamie noticed was how pale Malcolm was. The Executive Director was clearly unconscious, and surrounded by an alarming array of medical equipment. In addition to an IV line in his right arm, a tube inserted into his right nostril was attached to a bag of orange liquid that hung from the IV stand. Even with this new tube, the oxygen cannula was positioned under his nose. Another tube peeked out from the front of his gown and led down to a bag that hung from the bottom of the bed frame. Jamie assumed that was for the drain from his chest.

Jamie could see the shiny surface of the transdermal patch they used to close the incision, just as Doctor Ravi had described. They had done the same with his father at his last hospital stay. During that fateful last surgery, his father's heart was so swollen from congestive heart failure that they could not get it to fit back into his chest. Hence the transdermal patch. He lasted another twelve hours, brain dead, but still breathing. Jamie struggled to pull himself out of bad memories. This situation was completely different.

Sam was very quiet. To Jamie, it seemed she was barely there. He was very worried about her, and wanted to make sure that she was not left alone.

At 16:00, Bev arrived. Jamie had asked her to drop the kids at his mother's house so she could stay with Sam. Jamie had to get back to the office for at least an hour or two to attend to critical communications. Thankfully, Bev did not seem too put out by the plan. Jamie knew that Bev and Sam had a developing friendship, and Bev seemed shocked by the news and happy to help.

Julia was on her way to London via train with both children in tow. Jamie had offered to call her and break the news, which Sam gratefully let him do. Based on the text he received from Julia as she boarded the train, they would arrive at Waterloo Station at 19:00. Jamie planned to drive Sam's car to the office, and then pick them up and take them to Sam and Malcolm's house to drop off their things, and then on to St. Thomas's.

Once back at the office, Jamie went about the process of informing the PM and Malcolm's immediate colleagues. When the key people knew, Jamie drafted and sent the AP announcement.


	88. Chapter 88

**Author's Notes:**

This chapter commemorates the sad news today that Peter Capaldi will leave Doctor Who after the tenth series. I will cherish the upcoming season even more knowing it is his last, and I look forward to seeing where his next adventure takes him. What a talented actor and kind and gentle man.

We're with Jamie in this chapter, and I may be able to get the next one up fairly quickly due to an unexpected blocker on a work project that created a little free time.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **Saturday, 26 November, 20XX**

 _Daily Mail_

 _ **Labour Enforcer Hospitalised**_ _– In serious condition_

 _Angela Heaney, Junior Political Correspondent_

 _The Guardian_

 _ **Eight things Labour must do to hold the majority**_

Geoffrey Sullivan, Editor-in-Chief

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Jamie managed to get to Waterloo Station on time and easily spotted Julia in the throng of detraining passengers. After quick introductions to Simon and Lydia, Jamie loaded the baggage into the boot of Sam's car and headed for Malcolm's house. While Julia was noticeably worried about Malcolm, she seemed to be holding it together pretty well. Both children seemed subdued. Jamie couldn't help but notice how much Simon looked like his uncle.

Once back at hospital, Julia asked Jamie to stay with the kids in the ICU-2 lounge so she could go in alone to see Malcolm and Sam. As a father, Jamie sensed that she wasn't sure whether or not she should let Simon and Lydia see Malcolm and wanted to go in first and get the lay of the land.

Jamie made small talk with the kids. While Lydia seemed subdued, she answered Jamie's questions about school and hobbies readily. Simon was much more withdrawn. Jamie recalled he was about fourteen. Tough age.

Just when Jamie was running out of discussion starters, Sam and Bev came out into the waiting area. Lydia jumped up right away and embraced her. Simon was a little more reserved, standing and waiting until Lydia released his aunt before offering an awkward hug.

Sam looked the worse for wear, red-eyed and make-up free at this point. She walked the kids in to join their mother at Malcolm's bedside.

"How's she holding up, Bev?" Jamie noticed that Bev's eyes looked a little red.

"Not so good, Jamie. I think she's having a hard time accepting what's going on. She's planning on staying the night, but I think she needs a good lie-down. Do you think we could get her something to help her sleep?"

"I dunno, but I will ask. Thanks again for staying with her. Let's wait until they come out and we can figure out whether we should stick around for a while."

"Do you need to go back to the office?" Jamie took a deep breath and steeled himself.

"I'm afraid so. There's something big breaking on Monday and I need to work with Julius. I'm really sorry, but it can't be helped."

Bev clasped his hand. Jamie could tell from her non-verbals that she wasn't happy, but he wasn't the only one working hard on the relationship.

"I know, Jamie. And I understand. How late do you think you'll be?"

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. "I dunno, Bev. Hopefully not too late, but there's lots to do." They discussed potential logistics of having the kids stay the night with his mother, rather than coming home.

Sam joined them in the waiting area. To Jamie, she seemed as badly off as Bev described. She looked for all purposes like a grieving widow.

"How are you holding up, Sam?" That question started more tears. Jamie offered his handkerchief, which she accepted. Bev rubbed her arm in comfort.

"Jamie, this is so hard. I've been in there with him since they brought him back, and I look at him and I just can't believe this is happening."

Shortly after, Julia and the kids came out and joined them in the waiting area. Simon was obviously emotional and trying to hide it. Poor kid.

After a mild sedative, courtesy of the on duty nurse, and lot of prodding and negotiating with Julia, Jamie and Bev, Sam finally capitulated and let Julia drive her home. Bev drove Jamie to the office and then left to retrieve the kids from his mother's house.

Jamie worked into the wee hours with Julius to develop the strategy and associated communications collateral they would use on Monday.

When he finally made it home he was surprised to see the kitchen light on and Bev still up, nursing a tea at the kitchen table.

"Bev, what are you doing up? Are the kids okay?"

"Yes, they're fine." She sighed and tried to disguise a yawn. "How are you? Did everything go okay at the office?"

Now confident they weren't going to have a row, Jamie loosened his tie and joined her at the table. After seeking permission with his eyes, he had a sip of her tea.

"Yeah. Sorry about this. With Malcolm out and this critical thing in the works, it couldna be avoided. Unless something goes south, though, I shouldna have to go in again over the weekend."

"Any updates on Malcolm since we left hospital?"

"No." Jamie had actually walked back to St. Thomas's for a few minutes alone with the old bastard before heading to the tube for a train home. ICU-2 was quiet in the early hours of the morning. In the time since they all left hospital, Malcolm's roommate was moved and the second bed was empty.

Malcolm's condition was much the same as when Jamie last saw him. He was unconscious. He remained hooked up to one fuck of a lot of medical equipment, looking very much like a man who was near death.

Once he was sure they were alone, Jamie talked for a while. The chief enforcer showed no reaction to his monologue. That was fine with Jamie. He still felt a little better. He was incredibly sad and worried about Malcolm, but at least he'd done what he could to make his peace. Just in case.

On the way to bed, Jamie stopped to check on Morgan and Maisie in turn, watching them sleep. How quickly the time went.

It seemed just a few days ago that they'd brought Morgan back from hospital. Jamie remembered all of those clumsy first dad things –learning to hold him properly, changing diapers, discovering the unique things that settled him down when he was upset. Some day, probably much too soon for Jamie's liking, Morgan would be a gawky adolescent, like Simon. They grew up so fast.


	89. Chapter 89

**Author's Notes:**

Here is a short one for the weekend with another in the works. It's Saturday morning in Reshuffle land.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

"Thanks, Doctor Jacobs, I really appreciate it." Sam ended the call feeling much better than when she started it.

Jacobs had called the night before to see how the biopsy went, but Sam didn't check her messages until Saturday morning when she arrived at hospital. Julia, Simon and Lydia dropped her off and were using the car to pick up a few incidentals. Sam was grateful to have some time alone with Malcolm.

His colour looked a little better this morning, though he was still pale. Sam still couldn't look at him without getting choked up. If only he would move just a little, she'd feel ever so much better. In the chemically induced coma, he seemed closer to death than to life.

Sam felt a little better able to cope with things after a sound night's sleep. Her memory of the day before was hazy, at best.

A pretty nurse stopped her in the hallway as Sam was returning from the café. Sam recognized Abbie, the same nurse they had when Malc was in ICU last time. It was good to see a familiar face.

"Mrs. Tucker, Hi. I'm Abbie. Remember me? I was one of Malcolm's nurses that last time he was in."

"Yes, of course."

"I'm sorry to hear he's back in ICU. Please let me know if there is anything you need. I watched Malcolm's press announcement the other day. That had to be difficult, and he handled it well. You must be very proud of him." Sam's eyes felt warm.

"I am."

Doctor Ravi came in around ten in the morning. By then, Julia, Simon and Lydia had arrived. Julia sent the kids out to the gift shop and stayed with Sam while the doctor examined Malcolm.

The doctor listened to Malcolm's lungs for a long time. He checked his pulses, studied the bags that dangled from the IV stand and the bottom of the bed frame, and lifted each eyelid to examine Malcolm's pupils. After checking the monitors and comparing them to the chart he had with him, he turned his attention to Sam and Julia.

"Okay. Things are looking better. Malcolm's left lung is considerably clearer than yesterday, and from the volume of drainage, I think we're making good progress."

Sam felt a rush of relief. "That's good to hear, Doctor, thank you. When do you think he'll be ready for the surgery?"

"If things continue to improve, we'll do the surgery on his right lung on Tuesday."

"That long?" Julia interjected. "I thought you said he was doing well. Why can't you do it sooner?"

Doctor Ravi made eye contact with Julia and nodded slightly. "That's a fair question. While his left lung is clearing out nicely, his haematocrit is still too low. I've ordered parenteral iron, which should get his blood values where we need them. We'll repeat the labs tomorrow morning and see where we are. Also, Doctor Engel is not available to do the surgery until Tuesday, and we definitely want him. He's the best."

Sam sighed. Maybe it was only three days until Tuesday, but to her it was an eternity. Doctor Ravi seemed to know what was going through her mind.

"I know it feels like a very long time. It's often hardest on the family members. How are you holding up, Sam?"

"Better today – thanks for asking. It's a huge help to have Julia and the kids here. And Jamie's been a good friend."

The doctor smiled. "That's good. I'm glad to hear you have a strong support system around you. I hope you let them help you as much as possible." Julia squeezed Sam's arm reassuringly.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **Monday, 28 November, 20XX**

 _The Guardian_

 _ **PM to step down at**_ _ **call for confidence vote**_ _– Speculation on Labour's short list for party leader_

Marianne Swift, Political Correspondent

 **PHILLIP PEEL:** "Hi, Sam. I heard about Malcolm on telly. The wife and I are keeping you both in our thoughts. [Pause] I wanted to give a heads up that there's been a break in the case. Police Strathclyde found the remains of all the missing children. No need to call me back. Malcolm did a wonderful thing, coming forward. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance. Well, take care of yourself, and if you don't mind I will check in on you in a day or two."


	90. Chapter 90

**Author's Notes:**

It is now Tuesday in Reshuffle land. Reviews are always appreciated!

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **Tuesday, 29 November, 20XX**

 _Daily Mail_

 _ **Continuing coverage on PM step-down**_ _–Predictions for 5 December Labour vote_

 _Angela Heaney, Junior Political Correspondent_

 _Glasgow Daily_

 _ **Bodies found on forty-year-old case**_ _– Remains of 12 boys discovered in a disused culvert_

 _Gregory Allred, Crime Desk_

In a surprising announcement this morning, Police Strathclyde Detective Inspector Bruce Douglas shared a new development in the case of fifteen children who went missing over forty years ago. While the remains of three of the children were recovered at the time of the original investigation, the whereabouts of the remaining twelve boys has been a mystery until just now.

Shortly after last week's announcement of new forensic evidence that implicated Alistair Tucker, father of Malcolm Tucker, the current head of communications for Number Ten, investigators located the skeletal remains of twelve children. The remains are believed to be those of the twelve boys who went missing between 1967 and 1973.

"We discovered the remains in a disused culvert not far from Alistair Tucker's Maryhill flat," says Douglas in an official statement. "The culvert is located just on the other side of a strip of woods that separate two neighbourhoods. While it will be several weeks before the forensic pathologist can confirm it, we are confident that these are the bodies of the twelve boys who went missing and were never recovered.

"We could not have made this discovery without the help of an anonymous informant. We thank everyone who has cooperated with the investigation, and special thanks to the families of the victims for their patience and persistence in following up on the status of the investigation. Our forensics team is working quickly to confirm the identities of the remains and release them to their respectful families so they can finally be laid to rest."

In a press release late last week, Malcolm Tucker confirmed he was in touch with investigators and cooperating with the investigation. We can only surmise that perhaps, as the son of the perpetrator, he provided some or all of the information that led to the confirmation of Alistair Tucker as the perpetrator, and the location of the missing children's remains.

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

 **SAM:** Jamie, he's heading into surgery. PLS keep him in your thoughts.

Jamie entered the PFI building and took the escalator up to the DoSAC area. He had meant to check in with Nicola earlier in the morning, but when he got to the office the press pack was waiting.

At least this time the focus was on the PM's step-down, which was expected and well planned for. While it meant a lot of legwork for Jamie and the Communications team, the messaging was fairly straightforward. All the same, Jamie was finding it difficult to balance the media control with supervision of the messaging coming out of the various ministries.

If Malcolm were on the job, he would likely have had Jamie babysit the ministers while he handled the press. Jamie didn't have an assistant. Given that Malcolm was out and Julius was tied up with managing the PM's handoff to whoever came next, Jamie made the executive decision to acquire a deputy for the duration. That's why Nicola was his first stop today.

"Are you sure he's up to it?" she asked when he proposed the idea. At least she didn't push back about the time away from DoSAC.

"It's just checking in with a handful of ministers for the next week or so and coordinating with me. Things should be pretty quiet, anyway, given that everyone is focussed on the upcoming Labour vote. I need somebody, Nicola, and he's already working with you and Tom in Transport. He's in a better position to do it than anyone else I've worked with." _Plus, he already knows what a bastard I can be._

"Well, I guess it's okay, then." Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. "But just for the next two weeks, right?"

"Probably, yes. If it looks likely to go longer I will circle back, of course. No telling how things will play out with the vote, or when Malcolm will be back." _Or_ if _he'll be back._ The mention of Malcolm brought a look of compassion to the minister's face.

"How is Malcolm, Jamie? I've only heard what was on BBC, and that didn't sound very encouraging. This is more than pneumonia, isn't it? Please tell me he's on the mend."

Jamie considered politely telling Nicola it was none of her business, but he knew her concern was real and felt she deserved more. Over the past few weeks, the junior minister had somehow moved into what Jamie considered to be the inner circle around Malcolm. Weird, but true.

"He went in for a biopsy on some scar tissue in his lungs, but something went wrong. They're doing another surgery this morning. Assuming it goes well, he will be home in a few days."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Poor Sam. She must be at her wit's end. It's just been one thing after another with him. I hope this is the last of it and it's smooth sailing from here on out. Is he back at St. Thomas's? I would like to visit him, or at least send flowers."

"It's only a short list of visitors for now, I'm afraid. Once he's out of intensive care and into a regular room, he will probably be cleared for more visitors." Sam had told him that if the surgery went well Malcolm would be moved into a regular ward.

His next stop was at Ollie's desk. Reeder had seen Jamie come in earlier and was waiting for him. They stepped around the corner to one of the vacant hoteling offices.

"How's Malcolm?" Jamie was starting to feel like a broken record. He filled Ollie in on Malcolm's status. When he explained about the scar tissue, Ollie's expression of confusion and relief surprised him.

"What did you think was wrong?" The skinny twat blushed a little.

"Well, it's nothing, really."

"Tell me."

"I just thought…that is to say…I thought maybe he'd made a suicide attempt after the press event. Obviously I was way off."

"Fuck right, you're way off! Where the hell did you get that idea? Malcolm would never do something like that." _Well_ , probably _never_ , Jamie thought.

"Remember when I asked you what happened between Malcolm and Steve Fleming and you told me to ask Malcolm?"

"Sure."

"Well, when I did he told me about how Fleming basically pushed Roth into offing himself by leaking information about an old affair. It's just that there were a lot of similarities between what happened there and how it went with Fleming and the _Glasgow Daily_ articles."

Suddenly, everything snapped into place for Jamie. "No. _Fuck_ no, Ollie. Malcolm didn't try to off himself. It's scar tissue in his lungs that he's had a long time." Jamie felt a rush of compassion when he saw Reeder's eyes well up.

"Look, even if he did decide to do something like that, it wouldna be your fault. You're just not that powerful, Reeder. I really dinna know much about the Roth situation. If Malcolm told you, then you know more than me. But Malcolm is a different guy. He would never do that to Sam, no matter how bad things were." Ollie cleared his throat and swiped discretely at one eye. Poor little shit.

"Speaking of Fleming, I got this weird voicemail from him last night." Jamie went on red alert.

"You did? What the fuck did he want?"

"That's what was weird. He apologised for being such an arsehole when I tried to get the _Glasgow Daily_ articles back from him. Do you think he has something terminal and is trying to square things up before he exits stage left?"

Jamie couldn't help but crack a smile. _That fucker._ _High time I checked in on him._


	91. Chapter 91

**TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

When Sam entered the private room in Ward C she felt weak with relief when she saw Malcolm. Julia clasped her hand and gave it a squeeze before stepping to the other side of the bed.

His colour was much better due to an additional transfusion and the iron supplementation. When the surgeon and doctor Ravi performed the second surgery they also removed the feeding tube and the drain in his chest. With two fewer tubes going in or out, Malcolm looked much less frail.

The attending nurse had said that Malcolm should awaken in the next hour or so, once the anesthesia wore off. They settled in for the vigil. Sam was grateful to have Julia with her, especially given how the last post-operative vigil ended.

"He looks good," Julia offered.

"Better than he has, for sure. I'm glad they shaved him."

Malcolm had made a healthy start at a beard during his time in the chemically induced coma. With the weight loss and the salt and pepper growth, he looked more like a starving artist than the director of communications for the Prime Minister. Simon and Lydia made more than a few jokes about Vincent Van Gogh, working hard to come up with creative Dutch swear words that might best correspond to Uncle Malc's habitual vocabulary.

Happily, the object of their amused attention was now clean-shaven, and while much too thin, looked more like himself.

Sam worked on a crossword and Julia knitted with the telly on in the background. The children came and went, often making up excuses to be off on their own, prowling different areas of the hospital. While Lydia seemed fine around Malcolm, Simon was noticeably uncomfortable. He had always had a special relationship with Malcolm. Growing up without a father made an uncle that much more important.

An hour slipped by. Sam changed the channel to BBC and they listened to the news coverage of the PM's step-down and upcoming runoff for Labour leader.

So much had happened outside the bubble of St. Thomas's. Malcolm would have a lot to catch up on. Jamie only mentioned the step-down peripherally in his regular check-ins. Likely, he knew Sam had no interest in anything outside of the hospital at the moment.

Jamie was very busy, and Sam appreciated his frequent calls and daily visits. Bev was surprisingly supportive, working with Sue to coordinate meals at the Tucker house to make things just a bit easier.

Just as Malcolm started to show signs of returning consciousness, Julia's attention was hooked by something on the news. She used the remote to increase the volume.

"Sam – listen to this!"

The sound of a crowd was audible in the background of the pretty blond television announcer. The banner at the bottom of the screen said "Families of the missing say 'Thank you" to Malcolm Tucker." Then Sam realised the announcer was standing right in front of St. Thomas's hospital.

Julia gasped. "Oh my God!"

 **ANNOUNCER:**

"After this morning's announcement about the recovery of the remains of twelve children in Glasgow, we've seen an enormous outpouring of gratitude from the families of the missing children to Malcolm Tucker, current director of communications for Number Ten.

"In an emotional press release late last week, Tucker confirmed that his father was responsible for the abduction and murder of fifteen boys between the ages of two and five back in the late sixties and early seventies. At the time, Tucker said he was cooperating with the police.

"The families of the missing children were notified yesterday in advance of a statement from Police Strathclyde that the remains discovered in a disused culvert in Maryhill were most likely those of the missing children.

"I am in front of St. Thomas's Hospital in London with a group of people who all have some relation to one of the missing children. They call themselves The Mothers of the Missing, or MOM, a support group formed by Fiona Clatcher and other mothers of the missing boys back in the sixties. They've made the trip all the way from Glasgow to give a big "Thank you" to Malcolm Tucker, who is currently a patient at St. Thomas's."

The camera went to a wide angle, which showed a large group gathered together, holding up a large banner that said "Thank you, Malcolm!"

Julia rushed to the window and looked out.

"Sam! Look, you can see them!" Sam made her way to the window on weak legs. Sure enough, the group was assembled right in front of the entrance of the hospital, which was easily in view from their third floor room.

The group was an assortment of people of all ages. There were a number of walkers and canes in evidence, along with one wheelchair. Sam scanned the faces and easily recognised Fiona Clatcher in the throng. Julia spotted her at the same time. Her eyes welled up and overflowed.

"Oh Sam, there's Mrs. Clatcher!"

"Why don't you go out and meet them?"

"Will you come with me?"

"I'd better not, Malc will wake up soon and I want to be here."

Sam watched on the television as the journalist briefly interviewed Fiona and a few of the other parents. She saw Julia enter the frame and step back, suddenly aware that she'd walked into the broadcast. Fortunately, no one noticed the new addition. It seemed Julia decided to wait to identify herself until the filming concluded.

Sam's attention was drawn away from the broadcast when Malcolm took a slightly deeper breath and let it out in a sigh. She was back at his side in an instant. His head rolled loosely to the side and he shivered. Sam leaned forward and rubbed his arm.

"Hey there, handsome – welcome back!"

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Malcolm had been drifting for a long time. He did not know how long. He did not know what happened before he drifted off. While he was aware that he seemed to be asleep, he had no driving desire to change his state. So he drifted some more, for what also felt like a very long time.

While Malcolm drifted along, he heard snippets of newscasts and conversations. That was pretty typical, given his profession. He didn't pay attention to the substance of these sounds, but only registered that they were present.

After a little more time drifting along, Malcolm noticed that he felt quite cold. He felt himself shiver. He felt a hand rub his arm soothingly. Nice. Even though he was cold, Malcolm drifted some more.

Gradually he became aware that his chest hurt quite a lot. It burned and ached in several places. All of the muscles felt like they had been severely strained recently. Now that he'd noticed the pain it was all he could focus on. It forced him out of the depths of his slumber.

Malcolm opened his eyes. Sam was there. He was in a hospital. Something felt very different.


	92. Chapter 92

**Author's Notes:**

This is the final chapter, with a postscript to follow shortly. Thanks so much for sticking with it!

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Wednesday, 30 November, 20XX

 _The Guardian_

 **PM unveils legacy project – social care reform**

Monday, 12 December, 20XX

 _The Guardian_

 **Miller's first day at Number Ten – announces minor reshuffle**

 **TTOI TTOI TTOI TTOI**

Tuesday, 27 December, 20XX

Malcolm entered Jacob's waiting room and took a seat. The receptionist was not at her desk. He set the package he'd been carrying on the coffee table in front of him and turned his attention to the magazines fanned out on the table's surface.

Though they'd had a brief conversation on the phone, Malcolm hadn't seen the counsellor since just before his release from hospital after his surgeries. Jacobs came by the day Malcolm was moved into the regular ward after his long stay in Intensive Care.

Malcolm and Sam had just returned from a fortnight in the Virgin Islands, and Malcolm was still recovering from the time difference and the rude awakening of returning from a tropical paradise to a bitter London winter.

The trip was in honour of Sam's fortieth birthday. While Malcolm was not particularly fond of vacation travel, he knew Sam had always wanted to go to St. Croix, and they certainly both needed a break after the difficult autumn months. He was still on leave for his surgery, and it seemed like a good time to get away and rest up.

He was surprised at how much he enjoyed being away from the hustle and bustle of London. The days seemed impossibly long, and he found the abundant sunshine and the brine of the sea invigorating.

During their time on the island, they enjoyed long walks on the beach and dining in local restaurants. They spent hours basking in the sun, in turn reading and sleeping. Malcolm watched as Sam turned an exquisite shade of bronze. He was not so fortunate, and ended up investing in an array of sunscreen products and wide-brimmed hats.

Whether it was the extra vitamin D from prolonged exposure to the sunshine, a diet of mostly fish and fruit, or the briny air, Malcolm's libido was even more active than usual. Sam seemed to be equally afflicted. They probably spent as much time shagging as they had on their honeymoon.

The improvement in Malcolm's lungs might have also had something to do with it. He still couldn't believe how much better he felt since the surgeries. It took a while for the incisions to heal and for his chest to get over the assault of being sliced open and spread sufficiently for the surgeon to do his work, but since then Malcolm had enjoyed unobstructed breathing for the first time since he was six years old. He had even experimented with jogging, each time early in the morning, before Sam was awake. While he would never be an athlete, Malcolm hoped to be able to join Sam on the tennis court soon.

During their trip Malcolm kept in touch with Dan Miller and Jamie, speaking to each at least once a day. Miller was confident and had a clear way forward for his first thirty days in Number Ten. When Miller visited Malcolm in hospital shortly after receiving the nod from Her Majesty, he had told Malcolm to take as much time as he needed to get his health back.

While Malcolm knew that sentiment was sincere, he didn't want to be away for long. Jamie was doing an excellent job of handling things in his place, but sounded weary and stressed on their calls. He and Bev recently found out they were expecting a third child.

Malcolm glanced at his watch and retrieved the package from the coffee table. When he and Sam arrived home from the airport, he'd felt a thrill of adrenaline when he saw the bulky manila envelope propped against the front door. Sam must have been thinking the same thing, because she said "Oh no, not again."

But when he saw the return address, Malcolm realised it was just a package from Julia, probably containing a Christmas gift. Upon opening it, he discovered it was a thin photo album with an inscription on the inside of the cover from Julia.

 _I hope you can look at these pictures and remember there were some good times._

 _Much love,_

 _Julia_

Malcolm shut the cover, his heart racing. He put it back in its envelope and went to carry the luggage upstairs while Sam unloaded the bag of groceries they'd picked up on the way home. Later, they looked at the album together. Upon her suggestion, he brought it with him today.

Precisely on the hour, the door to the counsellor's office opened and Jacobs walked out, accompanied with an older woman who looked a little red around the eyes. After seeing her to the door, Jacobs turned his attention to Malcolm.

"Well, you're looking healthy, Malcolm. Good to see you. Come on in."

Malcolm followed the counsellor in, accepting the offer of coffee.

Jacobs opened the conversation once they were both seated with coffee in hand.

"How was your trip?"

"Good. Really nice, actually. Sam loved St. Croix. She had a hard time leaving at the end of our stay. Have you ever been?"

"Not to the Virgin Islands, no, but my late wife and I honeymooned in Jamaica. She loved it, but I admit, the tropical climate didn't agree with me."

"So you're a widower, then. Sorry for your loss." Malcolm felt badly that he hadn't bothered to ask Jacobs more about himself.

"Thanks. It's been three years. I still miss her, but I'm moving on." Jacobs eyes flicked to the manila envelope, which Malcolm had set on the edge of the desk.

"I see you've brought something to show me."

"Yes. My sister sent it. It's an album."

"Family photos from your childhood?"

"Something like that, yes. Sam and I had a look last night. She – _I_ thought it might be good if I brought it in to show you."

"That's great. Thank you for sharing it with me. I imagine it must have stirred up a lot of memories."

"Some. Nothing good," Malcolm admitted, "and I had the nightmare again last night. Scared the living shite out of Sam. I think this time it was the worst it's ever been. Instead of starting where I wake up in the shed, it started in the garage, right before my father attacked me. And I remembered more of what happened later that night." Jacobs didn't respond to that. Malcolm tried to read his expression, but his eyes gave nothing away.

"Look, Doc, I just want things to go back to the way they were before all this started. Things were okay most of the time. But, somehow, I don't think it's possible."

"You can't un-ring the bell. The dream changed because you remembered more during the cognitive interview with the police."

"I don't want to know more. I don't want to remember. But I think I owe it to Sam to try to get past this."

"You owe it to yourself, too."

"Perhaps." A few seconds ticked by on the wall clock before Malcolm continued. He tried to sound nonchalant. But he didn't think he was very convincing.

"Look, Dan Miller's fresh in office and Jamie's just about at his limit. I really need to get back to work, but Miller did tell me to take all the time I needed. This might be my only chance to do what you suggested last time."

"You're willing to do inpatient treatment?"

"But no more than two weeks. Seriously. I've already been gone too long. In my role, being out of the loop is fucking fatal."

"What does Sam think about it?"

"She wants me to do it, of course. But at least she was nice and didn't push me on it. She let me come to it on my own." Jacobs smiled at that.

"I'm glad you made this decision, Malcolm. We can get a lot accomplished with inpatient treatment."

"Only the two weeks, though."

"Let's see how it goes."


	93. Postscript

**Postscript**

Special thanks to Armando Ianucci, Peter Capaldi, Rebecca Front and the rest of the fantastic cast of The Thick of It. The characters in Reshuffle were all of Ianucci's making with the exception of a host of original supporting characters such as Doctor Ravi Raman, Julia Tucker, Philip Peel, Andrew Roth. Those were straight out of my imagination.

The original premise of this story was "What if Malcolm's sweary gruffness was all an act and he was really a kind person underneath? What would cause him to put on such a harsh persona? What would it take to make him set it aside?"

I had no idea how big a project this was going to become, and am both pleased and horrified to reach the end of it. If you have ever aspired to write fiction, fan fiction or otherwise, I strongly encourage you to dive right in. You've got nothing at all to lose and everything to gain. The writing I've done here has made me more confident elsewhere. Every review I received meant the absolute world to me. Thank you so much for those who took the time to leave a comment; you kept me going and made this story happen.

In the course of writing this story, I learned just enough to be dangerous on an array of topics spanning from chronic lung disease to the National Health Care System to the UK election process. I had a great time researching Scotland, Glasgow, and historic artifacts such as the names of the gaols and where they were located back in the early 1970's. It was also fascinating to research the composition of The Met and the CID, and the history of Police Strathclyde. This is another plug for potential authors: you get to learn a ton about your subject matter.

I also learned that my version of Microsoft Word really insists on changing British spelling back to American spelling, even when I changed the default settings. It was probably the most frustrating thing about writing this story. The up side is that I had to manually review and edit each chapter, and got a much firmer grasp on British spelling. My British clients thank you, and my American ones wonder what I have against the letter "Z."

I'm sure I got a million things wrong, and really wish someone would point them out so I can do better if I choose to write another story set in the UK again. That said, you can still do that, either through commenting on the individual chapters, or PMing me. If there was something that you thought worked particularly well, of course I would love to know about that, too.

 _The Guardian_ , _The Mirror_ and _The Daily Mail_ are all real newspapers. _The Tattler_ and _Glasgow Daily_ are not, at least not that I am aware of.

I borrowed copiously from the original series. For example, you might have recognized George Alagia, a BBC news personality in the original show. Any of the really good profanity you saw in this story probably came straight from the show. I rarely swear in real life and knew I couldn't pull it off in print without help.

When I first started this project, I had no intention of going so deep into Malcolm's past or the child abuse angle. That theme just emerged on its own, and once it was out there I couldn't sweep it under the rug. For those readers who were annoyed or put off with that, sorry it went there and thanks for sticking with it anyway.


End file.
